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English Prayers for the First Time. 

See page 28. 







CECILY: 


A TALE OF THE ENGLISH 
REFORMATION. 


i 


EMMA 


BY 


LESLIE, 


Author of ‘‘Leofwine the Saxon,” “Conrad,” etc. 




FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS 




NEW YORK: n ' ^ ■ 0^^ 

nr ,.f , . yy 


PHILLIPS & HUNT.' 

CINCINNATI : 
HITCHCOCK <& WALDEN. 

1879. 



Copyright 1879, 

i^:e3:ixjXjI3ps dh laixjiKnr, 

New York. 




PREFACE. 


story of the days of King Edward and 
X Queen Mary is not a smaller edition of 
‘‘ E'ox’s Book of Martyrs.” I have purposely 
avoided the harrowing details of the martyrolo- 
gist, while I have tried to picture the scarcely 
less keen suffering which the religious changes of 
the sixteenth century brought upon all classes 
of the community. But the lesson most forcibly 
taught by this period of its history is, I think, the 
impossibility of an evil tree bringing forth good 
fruit. The boy-king Edward was but a puppet in 
the hands of his powerful advisers and guardians, 
and it was more from policy than principle that 
many of them professed themselves Protestants. 
The spoils that had been wrested from the cor- 
rupt Church of Rome by the powerful grasp of 
Henry VIII. became at once the clog and bane 
and curse of the struggling infant Church that 
was rising on its ruins. But for this (Church 
property being given to men who called them- 
selves Protestants, but had the fear of neither 
God nor m.an before their eyes) the awful tragedies 
enacted in the reign of Queen Mary never could 
have taken place; for it must be borne in mind 
that the wholesale slaughter of God’s saints that 
took place in this reign was not the despotic, un- 


6 


Preface. 


constitutional act of the queen, but was legalized 
by act of Parliament — an act passed by a Protest- 
ant House of Lords, whatever the Commons might 
have been — an act voted against by several Cath- 
olic peers to their everlasting honor. 

It may be objected that I have depicted the 
character of Mary too favorably, but Froude and 
the later historians agree that she was by no means 
the iTionster we once regarded her. Bigoted, nar- 
row-minded, and all too subservient to her spirit- 
ual directors, she was, indeed; but much allow- 
ance must be made for her even in this, for she 
belonged to a Church that claimed to hold the con- 
sciences of her votaries, and she was the daughter 
of one upon whom the foulest wrong had been 
wrought by the means of this new Protestant faith. 
As a woman, Mary seems to have been kind and 
considerate, and, apart from her religious acts, one 
of England’s most considerate and constitutional 
sovereigns; but yet her reign is one of the darkest 
and most unfortunate in the roll of history, and 
posterity has known her as ‘‘bloody Queen Mary.” 
The authorities consulted for this work have been 
principally Strype’s “Memorials of Archbishop 
Cranmer,” D’Aubigne’s “ History of the Reforma- 
tion,” Anderson’s “ Ladies of the Reformation,” 
M’Cree’s “Reformation in Italy and Spain,” Miss 
Strickland’s “ Queens and Princesses of England,” 
and historical works by other well known authors. 

That some practical lesson may be gleaned by 
the reader is the fervent hope of the author. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I. The Squire’s Family 9 

II. Gossip 22 

III. The Feast Without Guests 36 

IV. Popular Discontent 49 

V. A Christmas Festival 62 

VI. The Princess Mary 76 

VII. The Morning’s Discussion 91 

YIII. Sir Peter Temple 104 

IX. Anticipations of Sorrow 118 

X. A Friendly Offer 132 

XI. Queen Jane, or Queen Mary? 146 

XII. London Gossip 160 

XIII. At the Aldgate Parsonage 176 

XIV. The Queen’s Breach of Promise 190 

XV. Wearisome Splendor 204 

XVI. Black-Monday 218 

XVII. News from Edendale 232 

XVIII. A Scene in East Chepe Church 246 

XIX. A Wonderful Surprise 262 

XX. In the Palace Garden 276 

XXI. Was it Witchcraft? 290 

XXII. Conclusion 304 


Paqb 


English Prayers for the First Time 2 

She urged her Horse through the Brake and 
Briar 84 


169 


Queen Mary’s Entry into London 
John Taylor’s Penance 


C E O I L T. 


CHAPTER I. 


• THE SQUIRE’S FAMILY. 

HE slant rays of the setting sun lay in 



floods of golden light on the fields and 
marsh lands of the flat Essex landscape, as two 
travel-stained and weary looking pedestrians 
toiled along the hot, dusty road. 

Almost home,’' exclaimed one of the young 
men after a lengthened silence; “Yonder is 
Giddy Hall, the residence of Sir Anthony 
Cooke, and the manor-house is not a mile be- 
yond it.” 

“ Sir Anthony Cooke,” repeated his com- 
panion ; “ is he not one of the preceptors of the 
young king ? ” 

“ Yes, that he is, and a more learned or more 
godly knight could not be chosen to instruct 
his grace. The family are in London now, 
but you will find them ever in their places in 
church while they are in this neighborhood.” 


lO 


Cecily. 


Then Giddy Hall is in my pan^h, I sup- 
pose.” 

‘‘Yes, and I sometimes wish it was in mine. 
But I will not grudge thee this help, good 
brother, seeing I shall so soon have help that 
no priest could hope for a few years ago.” 

“Ah! this year of grace, 1549, is one that 
will long be remembered in the realm of En- 
gland, for we have now boldly followed the pro- 
testing States of Germany, and the prayer-book 
is being reformed, the mass abolished, and the 
images removed. The Reformation is fairly in- 
stituted in England.” 

“ Yes, it is a true and blessed fact that the Ref- 
ormation is begun ; but, my brother, there is still 
much work to do, especially in country villages 
like this of Edendale, where the people are slow 
to welcome any change, especially such changes 
as the dissolution of the monasteries has 
brought in many places. But we will talk of 
this to ourselves another time, for here come 
the squire's sons to meet us and welcome you ; ” 
and the next minute two well-grown lads came 
shyly forward, and were presented to the stran- 
ger as Dick and Rupert Audley. 

The parties were now close by the manor- 
house, which stood a little back from the road 
on the outskirts of the village. It did not 


The Squire 's Family. 1 1 

seem that much time or care had been expend- 
ed on the embellishment of the estate ; and, 
in truth, Squire Audley had neither means nor 
inclination to do more than turn a few sheep 
loose on the lawn in front of the house, to keep 
the grass from growing too high. Dame Aud- 
ley cultivated a few old-fashioned flowers, be- 
sides her herb-garden of dill, and tarragon, and 
sage, and clary ; but these were at the back of 
the house, and there was only a stretch of grass 
dotted over with trees, in place of flower-beds, 
in front of the wide porch which was the prin- 
cipal entrance of the house. 

There was another group in this porch wait- 
ing to welcome the travelers, and when the 
squire and his wife had been introduced Mil- 
dred and Kate were presented, and then the 
whole company went indoors, to sit down to the 
substantial evening meal which had been kept 
waiting for the travelers. 

“ Now, good Brother Thomas, you must make 
a hearty meal, for, I can assure you, you are 
right welcome among us,” said his friend, as he 
seated himself at the long oaken table. 

Welcome ? Ah, Father Martin can tell some- 
what of how welcome you are like to be, for the 
church has been closed since the convent of 
St. Agnes was suppressed, in the late king’s 


12 


Cecily. 


reign,” said Squire Audley, helping his visitor 
to some huge slices of cold beef. 

“And so the new service is to be .performed 
there next Sunday,” said Dame Audley, with 
something of a sigh, and glancing at her daugh- 
ters as she spoke. 

“ And will it be in English — all English, so 
that the vulgar and unlearned can understand 
every word that is said ? ” asked Kate. 

“ Ah, that is the strangest part of the busi- 
ness to me, for it seems J:here will be no mys- 
teries in this new religion — nothing but what 
ordinary men and women can understand if they 
like ; and this, I fear, will offend the people al- 
most as much as taking the images of the Vir- 
gin and saints out of the church. There was 
almost a riot over that.” 

“ Yes ; father, being justice of the peace, had 
to ride over and protect the king’s messen- 
gers,” said Rupert, “ and mother would not 
trust us out of her sight for fear the people 
should take vengeance upon us ; and she said 
they were half in the right, too, for the king.” 

“ Tush, tush, boy ; no words against the king,” 
interposed his father quickly ; “poor folks like 
us cannot pretend to understand the reason for 
these changes. We must obey the king’s grace 
in all things.” 


The Squire's Family, 


13 


In all things,” repeated the squire’s eldest 
daughter, ‘^but I thought you said these new 
doctrines had been approved by the people — I 
mean by the learned doctors of religion and the 
most thoughtful of the people ; and that it 
would be well if kings were guided somewhat by 
their subjects in making such changes as these.” 

The squire fidgeted and looked uneasy while 
the young lady was speaking, and answered 
quickly, “Well, well, Mildred, perhaps I did 
say something like it ; but you must be careful 
how you repeat my words, or they may sound 
little less than treason ; and one needs to be 
careful in these changing times.” 

“ They are evil days in which we live, and I 
fear worse are coming,” said Dame Audley ; 
“ for since the king has put down the monaster- 
ies the country has been overrun with begging 
friars and poor starving folk. It would have 
been better to let things alone, and — ” 

“ Mother, mother, what are you saying ? 
When the king’s warrant came down for our 
Convent of St. Cyrus to be closed, you said you 
felt like to die with joy that Kate was coming 
home to us again,” said Dick, eagerly. 

“ So she did, my boy, and the loss of our girl 
was a grief that shadowed all our lives,” said 
the squire. 


14 


Cecily. 


And you could not be so glad as I was/’ 
said Kate ; '' for after I read the New Testament 
that was given, to sister Lucy, and learned that 
prayers to the Virgin, and many other things, 
were contrar}^ to the command of God, I felt 
sure my heresy would one day be found out, and 
then I should be sent to those horrible dungeons 
to be starved to death secretly, if I were not 
made a public example of and burned. But 
instead of this, the king’s warrant came and set 
me free ; and I heard that all the world had 
found the truth that came to me in the convent, 
and I could go to the church and ^ad the Bible 
that had been set up there by the king’s com- 
mand without fear of being called a heretic.” 

“ Yes, yes, Kate, what you say is true enough, 
but the great lords who hold the convent 
lands care nothing for the poor. In these days 
when there are more laborers than can find 
employment, the daily dole is a sore loss to 
many ; and, now that the common lands are be- 
ing inclosed, there will not be food enough to 
eat ; and what the end will be I dread to think.” 

No one replied to this, for all knew that the 
lady’s fears were only too well founded — that 
the discontent among the poor, starving peas- 
ants was driving them into open rebellion, and 
that the wandering monks, turned out of house 


The Squire's Family, 15 

and home, were telling the people that this was 
all a part of the new religion that the young 
king and the lord protector had established. 
The charges they brought against many who 
were now proud to call themselves Protestants, 
as they held the convent and abbey lands, were 
only too true ; for many were proud, and ambi- 
tious, and self-seeking, caring nothing for the 
Gospel, although they called themselves Gos- 
pelers, and urged that all who would not con- 
form to the new doctrine should be imprisoned. 

When the family arose from the table Kate 
and Mildred withdrew to their own chamber, 
for they knew that the squire was anxious to 
know something of the new rector who had 
just been sent to take charge of the parish, and 
so would rather be left alone with his guests, for 
a short time, at least. So the sisters sat down 
together on the broad window-seat, Kate rest- 
ing her head on Mildred’s shoulder. They were 
silent for a few minutes ; but at length she said 
with a half sigh, I am afraid mother regrets 
having given her consent.” 

‘‘Her consent to what.^” asked Mildred, 
whose thoughts just then were with the peas- 
ants, and what she had heard about their rising 
to resist the harsh laws that had been passed 
against them. 


i6 


Cecily. 


“ Why, Mildred, you seem to forget that my 
wedding will be as — as shocking as your own ! ” 
she added, with a forced laugh. 

“ Why darling, you are not going to marry a 
priest ; and since the Parliament has passed a 
law permitting priests to do this, I cannot see 
that it is so shocking, after all.** 

“ But you forget that I am — that I have been 
— a nun,** whispered Kate. “ Old Hodge asked 
me only yesterday if I was not afraid to do this, 
and I am sure a good many people think I ought 
to be.*’ 

“ Well, tell them to go and talk to young 
F'armer Goodman about it,** said Mildred impa- 
tiently ; ‘‘ I suppose he ought to be afraid of 
wedding a nun.** 

‘‘Yes, I suppose so. Mildred, will any body 
come to our wedding, do you think ? ** asked her 
sister, in some anxiety. 

“ Bless the child ! why shouldn*t they come V 
exclaimed Mildred, “ we have not asked any of 
our grand neighbors, as you know, because 
mother and I thought it would be better to pro- 
vide a bountiful meal for the poor people ; and 
the only proper thing about our wedding will be 
the hippocras, and mother said it would be no 
wedding at all without that.** 

“ And there will be no marchpane and rich 


The Squire 's Family. 


17 


comfits, such as I learned to make at the con- 
vent,’' said Kate, as though she were disap- 
pointed at losing this opportunity of displaying 
her culinary skill. 

“ Never mind, dear, you can make a march- 
pane when you get to your new home. O Kate, 
how mother will miss her two girls, especially 
her little sacred daughter, as she used to call 
you ! ” 

You must not let her miss me, Mildred ; you 
will only be in the next parish, while I shall be 
be so far off ; although father has promised to 
bring her to Oxford to see me very soon.” 

I will come very often to see hej, but I — I 
am afraid she frets a little at losing us both at 
once.” 

‘‘ She frets, too, about the poor people ; she 
is afraid they will do something desperate, and 
make their condition even w^orse than it is,” 
said Kate. 

“It cannot be worse,” said Mildred, “poor 
old widow Watkins’ son has been branded as a 
vagabond, and must serve that hard rich man. 
Sir Peter Temple, for two years as his slave.” 

“ O Mildred, surely they will not enforce this 
new, cruel law,” exlaimed Kate. 

“ But they are doing it,” said her sister. “ I 
was in the village to-day and heard all about 


i8 


Cecily. 


the poor widow’s troubles, and Hodge Watkins 
is not the only one that has been informed 
against as an idle vagabond.” 

‘‘But, Mildred, if this cruel law is fully en- 
forced the poor people must all become slaves ; 
for I heard father say that if any lived idly and 
loiteringly for three days he could be informed 
against, and the justice of the peace could order 
him to be branded on the breast with a V, and 
serve the informer two years as his slave. He 
said, also, that the master need only provide 
him with the poorest food, and might set him 
to the hardest toil, and compel him to work by 
beating or chaining him, and if he ran away 
and was absent a fortnight, the letter S could 
be branded on his cheek or forehead, and he 
become a slave for life.” 

“ Yes, I heard father say the law never would 
be enforced, but it will, it seems ; and the 
worst of it is, that the poor people think it is all 
caused by the new religion — Gospelers, like 
Sir Peter Temple, who have possession of the 
convents and abbeys, and who now want to re- 
duce the people to slavery, that they may grow 
rich on their labor, they say ; and they wish 
the holy fathers would come back and give 
them their daily dole of alms ; that, at least, kept 
them from starving.” 


The Squire's Family, 19 

“ Does father know about poor Hodge ? ” 
asked Kate, eagerly ; could not he have given 
him a few days’ work, just to save him from 
this?’* 

‘‘Father says he can barely m.ake the land 
pay for itself, as it is. You see, a few years ago 
the people — all the poor people-- — were almost 
like slaves ; they tilled their lord’s land as pay- 
ment for their own garden and cottage, and 
these fields were plowed and planted, and en- 
riched their owners ; but, now that wages must 
be paid to have this work done, it pays better 
to turn them into sheep runs, and every body 
is doing this, and the poor laborers are turned 
out of house and home, and can get no em- 
ployment anywhere. Some almost wish they 
were not freemen, but churls like their fathers ; 
but others say that they will not be robbed of 
their liberty again, and talk fiercely against 
the new religion as the eause of all their 
misery.” 

“ O dear ! I wish they eould know that this 
new religion sets people free, instead of enslav- 
ing them. But it is a pity the king’s grace 
cannot know how much evil is done in the 
name of the new -opinions,” said Kate, with a 
deep sigh. 

“ This new law is put forth to stop vagrancy,” 
2 


20 


Cecily. 


said Mildred#^ '‘but the poor people say that 
Protestants like Sir Peter are at the bottom of 
it, and they hate the new religion through such 
men as he is.” 

“ It would be better if Archbishop Cranmer 
could have his way, and take the revenues of 
the abbeys to build and endow schools. I 
heard Martin say it was a grief to his grace of 
Canterbury that he could not do this — that it 
was with difficulty he could save any thing for 
the universities at Oxford and Cambridge.” 

“Yes, Martin grows quite hot and angry at 
the convents and abbeys being given away, as 
they have been, to worldly, ambitious men, who 
call themselves Protestants because they hold 
these lands, but are a disgrace to any religion ; 
and he sometimes fears that persecution will be 
sent to prove who are really on God’s side in 
this struggle.” 

Kate shivered at the word “persecution.” 
“ I cannot bear to think of what happened in 
the late king’s reign,” she said ; “ and — and I 
fear if such a time should come again 1 might 
bring trouble upon another, and that, you know, 
Mildred, would be worse than bearing it for one’s 
self ; ” and the tears welled up to Kate's eyes as 
she spoke. 

“ My darling, we must not borrow trouble like 


21 


The Squire's Family. 

that. If Raymond Goodman were here he 
would tell you that he would rather take the 
risk of the trouble, with the right to protect 
you. But hush ! mother is coming to us ; do 
not let her see you in tears. She is sad enough 
already, when she thinks of our approaching 
separation/' 

N ' 



H'T. 


22 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER II. 

GOSSIP. 

I N these early days of the boy-king, Edward 
the Sixth, it was hard to determine whether 
the reformed faith or the monkish superstition, 
that had so long been dominant in England 
as every-where else, would prove to have the 
strongest hold upon the people’s minds. True, 
among the learned and cultured classes of so- 
ciety the reformed doctrine had made great prog- 
ress, and also among the people of the towns ; 
and Henry the Eighth, from motives of State 
policy, had thrown off the supremacy of the 
Pope, and declared that henceforth the reigning 
sovereign was to be recognized as the head of 
the English Church ; but the battle was by no 
means won yet, and in the suppression of the 
monasteries a blow was struck at the struggling 
Reformation hardly less disastrous in its results 
than the old superstition had received in the 
breaking up of these nurseries of ignorance and 
vice. In the disposal of the abbey lands and 
revenues of the Church the king gave but 
small heed to the advice and importunity of 


23 


Gossip. 

Cranmer, and it was with difficulty that he 
could save even the scraps and crumbs of this 
wealth for the endowment of schools and the 
promotion of learning. To increase his own 
wealth and pay his accumulated debts was what 
Henry thought of ; and so the patrimony of the 
Church was bestowed upon soldiers and court- 
iers — men, for the most part, who cared nothing 
at all for religion, but found it convenient, for 
consistency’s sake, to call themselves ‘‘ Protest- 
ants,” as they could not then be accused of 
robbing a Church they professed to reverence. 
Like the king, they cared only for their own ag- 
grandizement in their management of the prop- 
erty bestowed upon them ; and in these transi- 
tion times, when the old feudal system had 
been broken up, but free labor could hardly 
be made remunerative to the employer, they 
turned all the plowed lands into sheep-runs, as 
not requiring the labor that would be necessary 
for the cultivation of the soil. As a natural 
consequence, food was dear, and thousands who 
were willing to work were out of employment, 
while the wandering monks and friars, who had 
been turned out of house and home, indus- 
triously sowed sedition and rebellion, and a 
fierce hostility to the new faith which they said 
was the cause of all their trouble. 


24 


Cecily. 


Truly, England was miserable enough this 
year of grace 1549, and many, knowing the feel- 
ing of the great mass of the people outside the 
centers of culture and learning, watched with 
some anxiety the reception given to the new 
Book of Common Prayer in English, which was 
to take the place of the Latin service of the 
mass. 

None were more anxious than our friends, 
the Audleys. The rector of the adjoining par- 
ish, Martin Scrope, had not waited for the per- 
mission of king and Parliament to preach a pure 
and enlightened Gospel ; for at the peril of 
life and liberty he had taught his people the 
reformed doctrine, and many outside of his 
own parish, too. The Audleys were among his 
staunchest friends and supporters, and when, 
with the suppression of the convent, their own 
parish church was closed, they walked some 
miles to attend the simple service conducted 
by Father Martin in his own parish, for the 
convent lands were given away, but no provis- 
ion was made for the support of the parish 
priest ; and, now that Father Thomas Boyne 
had come among them, his stipend would be 
the merest pittance — not enough to support 
him had not Squire Audley volunteered to re- 
ceive him into his house free of charge. 


25 


Gossip, 

Meantime, Scrope had a little patrimony of 
his own, and, now that an act of Parliament had 
been passed permitting priests to marry, Mil- 
dred Audley was to become his wife. He had, 
through the interest of friends, secured the serv- 
ices of a man likeminded with himself for the 
neglected parish of Edendale ; and he was no 
less anxious than the squire as to the reception 
that would be accorded to his friend and to the 
new Book of Common Prayer. 

Edendale church had been closed for some 
time now — at least, for all public services. The 
official visit had been paid to remove the images 
of the Virgin and St. Agnes, and paint out the 
pictures on the walls by whitewashing them. 
The altar had also been cleared of its crucifix 
and lights, and a Bible placed on a convenient 
stand for the use of any parishioner who might 
wish to read it; but no one except Mildred and 
Kate Audley ever entered the church after its 
desecration by the London workmen, for no 
one in Edendale would have ventured to obey 
the king’s command in this matter. 

It was a bright, warm Sunday morning when 
the new service was to run the gauntlet of pub- 
lic opinion, and, long before the bells began to 
ring, groups of people were seen strolling down 
the road toward the church-yard gate. Many 


26 


Cecily. 


came from a distance, too, no few of them riding 
on horseback, with their wives or daughters on 
the pillion behind. 

“ Father Thomas will have a good congrega- 
tion this morning,'* remarked the squire, rub- 
bing his hands with satisfaction, as he stood in 
the porch, waiting for his two daughters to appear. 

‘‘ I wonder what they will think of the new 
way of things !" said Dame Audley, with a little 
anxiety in her tone. 

“ Well, it is something that they have come,” 
remarked Kate. “ I was afraid that we should 
be the only people there after what has been 
said about the church being desecrated.” 

“ I do not think there is much to fear now. 
People must like the new English service that 
they can understand better than repeating and 
listening to words they do not know the mean- 
ing of,” and Mildred’s bright face beamed with 
a joyful smile, as she walked by her sister’s side 
along the road toward the church. 

The rector had gone before any one else was 
likely to be there ; and now the long silent bells 
were ringing out their welcome call, and the 
groups of people, rich and poor, forgetting their 
grievances for once, were wending their way 
along the almost deserted road leading to the 
church. 


Gossip, 


27 


‘‘ This is like old times, dame,” whispered 
the squire gleefully, as they exchanged nods and 
greetings with one and another of their more 
distant neighbors ; and he tried to forget the 
worn, pinched faces of so many of the villagers, 
who, with hardly suppressed anger, had come to 
witness the inauguration of this new state of 
things, that was to bring to them the old feudal 
slavery, they heard. 

The squire knew something of their thoughts 
and fears, but these would soon be set right by 
the explanations and admonitions of Father 
Thomas Boyne ; and so he enjoyed to the full 
this happy Sunday morning, and walked into 
church followed by his family, feeling very grate- 
ful that the Gospel would now be preached in 
all its fullness and simplicity. 

By the time the bells had finished chiming 
the church was quite full, and the squire saw 
that Sir Peter Temple and his family and serv- 
ants were present — a fact that was also noted 
by others in the congregation. Curiosity had 
evidently brought most of them together ; and 
when Father Thomas appeared and began to 
repeat the Lord’s Prayer in English, looks of 
wondering amazement passed from one to the 
other, for, although many of them had learned 
it in Latin, the words conveyed no meaning to 


28 


Cecily. 


their understanding; but now the words, Our 
Father,’' so familiar in every-day life, but so 
strange as the language of prayer, were listened 
to with eager curiosity by many who heard it 
that day for the first time in their lives.* 

But to the majority of the congregation it 
seemed that the new service was little less than 
an offense. I never did like these Gospelers,” 
muttered one, glancing at the new baronet as 
he passed through the church porch at the con- 
clusion of the service. 

“You wont catch me coming again, when 
there’s no more to see than in my own barn,” 
said another. “ I wonder them London knaves 
wasn’t afraia of touching our beautiful image 
of the Virgin ; and they do say it’s been burned, 
too.” 

“ Ah, like enough ! ” said his neighbor, shak- 
ing his head and crossing himself as he 
spoke. “These be evil days, when even the 
images of the saints are seized to enrich the 
Gospelers.” 

“ But what did you think of the English 
prayers, gossip ? ” asked another. 

“ English ! Why, I shouldn’t have known 
they was English if it hadn’t been told me 
beforehand.” 


*See Frontispiece. 


Gossip, 


29 


Give me the mass and the old religion/' 
said another. This new-fangled Gospel may 
be all very well for people that’s got nothing 
else to do but to save their souls, but it aint fit 
for poor people, that can’t be expected to under- 
stand such things. We’re willing to pay tithes 
and Church dues for a holy father to put things 
straight for us up above ; but to pray, and pray 
for yourselves too, aint quite the honest thing, 
as I take it.” 

Ah, you’re right there, neighbor,” put in an- 
other ; what do we know about praying for 
ourselves ? Let the priests do it : that’s their 
trade, and every man to his trade, I say.” 

Aye, aye, to be sure ; when we’re willing to 
pray for it, why shouldn’t we have it ? A nice 
thing it’ll be when a man’s got to look after his 
own soul as well as his farm ! How can he ex- 
pect to take care of both ! ” 

“ Why, the country will be quite ruined if 
this burden is forced upon us ; and things are 
bad enough now ! No, no ; let us have back our 
old priests, to take care of things up above for 
us ; we’ve got enough to do to get bread to eat 
in these hard times.’' 

These, and other snatches of similar conversa- 
tions, reached Mildred’s ear, as she waited near 
the church-yard gate for her mother and father ; 


30 


Cecily. 


for the squire had drawn Sir Peter Temple 
aside to speak to him about the new rector, and 
Dame Audley had been left with the baronet’s 
daughter, standing near the church porch. 

The Audleys had only seen Miss Temple 
once or twice before, but, hearing that she came 
from court, and had been in the service of the 
Queen Dowager Catherine, they were in con- 
siderable awe of the young lady, and Dame 
Audley hardly knew what to do when she was 
left with her by the gentlemen. 

But she soon forgot the court lady in talking 
to Cecily Temple, for she was a sweet, gentle 
girl, who, under the careful instruction of her 
royal mistress Catherine Parr, had embraced 
the reformed doctrines from an intelligent com- 
parison of them with the old faith. She was 
full of sanguine hope and expectation that, now 
this had become the religion of the land by act 
of Parliament and the royal command, the rest 
would be easy enough, and that a glorious day 
had dawned for England and the Reformation. 

“ The next service will be a wedding, I hear — 
a double wedding,” said Mistress Temple. I 
am so glad your daughter is going to marry a 
priest ; for it will teach — ” 

But Mistress Temple stopped, for the look 
of dismay that came into Dame Audley’s face 


Gossip, 


31 


warned her that, for some reason, this marriage 
was not quite agreeable to her. Mistress Tem- 
ple, I don’t believe it will last,” she said ; “ the 
people don’t like it.” 

“ What wont last ” asked the young lady. 

‘‘ This new religion. It may be all very well 
for the king and lord protector, but I’m be- 
ginning to think that it aint fit for the poor ; 
they’ve not been used to think for themselves, 
and they’re too wicked and too ignorant to do 
it now ; and so it was much better to have a 
priest to pray for them.” 

It was now Cecily’s turn to look amazed at 
hearing this speech from the squire’s wife, for 
she had heard from her waiting-maid that the 
Audleys were all Gospelers, and she had often 
wished to know Mildred and Kate ; so that to 
hear the lady express her disapproval of what 
she had seen that morning was a shock indeed, 
and she turned away feeling rather disappointed, 
wondering whether Mildred shared in her moth- 
er’s fears. 

She found herself near Mildred before she 
was aware of it, and upon the impulse of the 
moment she said, How did you like our new 
service ? ” 

Oh, very, very much ! I thought if the people 
could only have joined in the prayers, and had 


32 


Cecily. 


not stood staring about them, it would have 
been almost like heaven,” said Mildred warmly. 

I am glad that some one besides myself en- 
joyed the service. I could almost have fancied 
that I was in the Palace of Placentia at Green- 
wich again, with my dear royal mistress, listen- 
ing to some of the services she often had for the 
benefit of her maidens in her own private apart- 
ments.” 

I am afraid some of the people do not like 
the new order of things,” said Mildred. 

No, I suppose not, but still I am surprised ; 
for in London nearly all the people— the poor 
as well as the rich — have embraced the new 
opinions.” 

‘‘ I suppose we of the country districts are 
more slow in learning to appreciate any new 
thing ; and, then, the people do not think much, 
as a rule, but are content to take things as they 
come a good deal, so long as they do not give 
trouble.” 

‘‘Well, then, I should have thought they 
would have accepted this change with less 
grumbling than there is,” said Cecily. 

Mildred colored a little, for she saw that her 
unguarded speech was likely to lead her into a 
difficulty. “ They have been roused to think 
for themselves more lately by what has hap- 


33 


Gossip. 

pened with the abbeys and convents ; but all 
their thoughts have been turned against this 
religion, and the friars have taught them that it is 
through this that they are so badly off just now/' 

Mildred could not say to this girl that it was 
through such men as her father that the new 
opinions were in ill-repute among the poor, but 
Cecily could understand it as well as though 
Mildred had expressed all her thoughts. A 
troubled look came into her face ; but after a 
minute or two she said, “ I cannot do much, 
but I think I can persuade my father to pay 
the new rector a stipend out of the convent 
lands. It is but fair and just, and no favor, 
since we have all the endowments of the 
Church. Not that it was a free, unmerited gift 
from the king, "added Cecily quickly ; my father 
earned it fairly by his service in the field of 
battle — the unfair thing is that the king should 
have paid his debts in this way." 

‘‘Yes, it would have been better to endow 
schools and provide for the poor," said Mildred, 
who was afraid to say too much upon such a 
delicate subject as this. 

“There is to be a wedding, I hear, on Tues- 
day. I did hope I should have been asked," 
said Cecily, wishing to say something to put 
Mildred at her ease again. 


34 


Cecily. 


“ Would you come ? ” asked Mildred eagerly. 

‘^Yes, indeed, I should like to come,” said 
Cecily frankly ; yours would be almost the first 
marriage, I should think, under the new act of 
Parliament ; and you are very brave to dare to 
become a priest’s wife.” 

Brave — ah! but you do not know Martin 
Scrope, or you would not think this so strange 
and bold,” said Mildred. 

“ I do not think it strange and bold ; I think 
it is just the best thing that can be. Every 
parish priest ought to marry, and he would be 
able to understand the cares and hopes and 
temptations of his people better, besides having 
the help of a wife in his work. I may come, 
then, and see the wedding,” said Cecily. 

‘‘ O, yes, indeed, and if you will come home 
with us afterward we shall like it. We cannot 
offer you a rich banquet such as a London lady 
would have ; it is not to be a marriage-feast at 
all ; but a good substantial meal will be spread, 
and all the poor of the village will be welcomed.” 

‘‘ O, that will be better than any marriage- 
feast ! Your sister who is to be married at the 
same time was a nun in our convent of St. 
Agnus, was she not ? ” 

‘'Yes, and she is afraid that the people will 
be so shocked at the thought of a nun being 


35 


Gossip. 

married that they will refuse to come to the 
wedding, so that she will be pleased to hear 
you are willing to do so/* 

I will not fail, for I wish to see it,** said 
Cecily ; I must say ^ good bye * now, for I can 
see my father coming, and he will wonder why 
I left your mother,’* and with a pleasant smile 
Cecily Temple went back to meet her father, 
leaving Mildred in a state of bewildered as- 
tonishment at her own boldness in talking to 

the “ court lady ** as she had done. 

3 


36 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE FEAST WITHOUT GUESTS. 

Audleys were universally beloved by 



A the villagers of Edendale until suspicion 
and distrust were sown in their minds by the 
monks on account of the difference in their re- 
ligious opinions. In an ordinary way the mar- 
riage of the squire's two daughters would have 
attracted every body to the church, and there 
would have been a general holiday and rejoic- 
ing, especially when it became known that a 
bountiful feast had been provided by their good 
friend, the squire, to which all would be wel- 
comed. But Mildred saw, to her dismay, that 
the church was almost empty, and only a few 
children and wandering beggars were standing 
about the churchyard when the wedding-party 
went through it. She heard, too, one of the boys 
saying, Taint no wedding at all, the prior says, 
but a sin against holy Church, and a curse is 
sure to come of it.” 

Mildred hoped that her sister had not heard 
those words, or her mother either, for Dame 
Audley was already so distressed and anxious 


The Feast Without Guests. 


37 


that she would fain have had them put off 
the wedding until more peaceful times. It 
was a comfort to her, therefore, to see Cecily 
Temple waiting for them in the church, and 
Dame Audley was much gratified to notice that 
the lady had donned one of her richest dresses 
to do honor to her daughters* marriage. 

But still, nothing could dispel the gloom that 
hung over the wedding-party ; for several times 
while Father Boyne was reading the simple, 
solemn service, the church resounded with deep, 
hollow groans, although no one could tell where 
they came from. People came and peeped in 
at the doors and windows, but very few vent- 
ured to trust themselves inside the church ; 
and when at last the wedding-party came forth 
again, these stood aside, silent and moody, with- 
out a word of cheer or congratulation for the 
brides, who had ever been their friends and had 
helped them in many a time of distress. 

Squire Audley was very indignant, and as he 
walked down the churchyard path with Cecily 
Temple he said half aloud, ‘‘The knaves do not 
deserve a share of the feast, since they will not 
wish the wenches Godspeed on their wedding 
day.** 

But Squire Audley was not put to the trouble 
of dismissing his guests, for none came to eat 


38 


' Cecily. 


the huge joints of beef, or drink the ale that 
had been broached, and even Cecily Temple 
felt sad and depressed when she sat down with 
the family party at the long oaken table that 
w^as loaded with substantial food that no one 
came to eat. 

No one cared to sit long with those laden 
tables in vietv, that reminded them so forcibly 
of how their wedding was regarded by the 
w^orld in general ; and, on the plea that they had 
a long journey before them. Farmer Goodman 
hurried away his bride as soon as possible, for 
he could see that she was almost overcome, 
and only maintained her calmness for the sake 
of others. Martin Scrope made excuse for 
taking Mildred soon afterward, and Squire Aud- 
ley was not sorry to have his daughters taken 
out of a scene that was full of bitter reminders 
of what the world thought of the marriage of 
priests and nuns, although it had been legalized 
by act of Parliament, and was certainly more in 
accordance with the word of God than the un- 
natural system that was so reverenced by the 
people. 

Dame Audley had managed to restrain all 
expressions of her grief and dismay until the 
departure of the newly married couples ; but 
after they had gone she gave way to a burst oi 


The Feast Without Guests, 


39 


irrepressible anguish. O, what have I done ! 
what have I done ! weak, wicked woman that I 
am, to give my children to — ’’ 

“Hush, hush, dame,'' interrupted her hus- 
band, peremptorily. “ The wenches are mar- 
ried to good men and true, and as for what these 
poor ignorant varlets think of the business, 
it matters little, since the archbishop and the 
council deem such marriages good and lawful." 

“Yes, yes, I know," sobbed Dame Audley, 
“ but what if the times should change again } 
Our king is but a young and delicate boy, and 
after him would come the Princess Mary, who, 
they do say, would bring back the mass, and re- 
store the abbeys, and — and what would Mildred 
be then ? " 

The squire tried to laugh. “ Why, Martin 
Scrope's wife ; who should she be } " he said. 

But the dame shook her head. “ Our prior of 
St. Agnes, who is a learned man, told Widow 
Watkins that the marriages of priests, not being 
sanctioned by holy Church, could not be aught 
but sin ; and the woman was — was — O that 
my Mildred had not been tempted to this dread- 
ful fate ! " 

“So the prior is here again, and has set 
Widow Watkins at you about the business." 
said the squire impatiently ; “ I wish I could 


40 


Cecily. 


keep him out of the country ; for mischief is 
sure to follow one of his visits. Of course he 
warned the people not to come to Kate's wed- 
ding, and paid some knave to groan in the 
church, I’ll warrant you. There, there, dame; 
don’t cry ; I only hope we shall have no more 
mischief done by this meddlesome prior than 
our wedding feast spoiled.” 

“ Can this prior of St. Agnes have any thing 
to do with our lads going off ? ” exclaimed Miss 
Temple, who had promised Mildred to stay and 
comfort her mother. 

‘‘ O, most likely it is his handiwork,” said 
the squire ; but who has gone ? ” he asked. 

“That poor knave, Hodge Watkins,” said 
Cecily, while the hot blood rose to her cheek as 
she pronounced his name, for she well knew 
how her father’s oppressive action had been con- 
demned by Squire Audley. 

The squire shook his head. “I feared it, I 
feared it,” he said ; “ Hodge is a trusty knave 
when fairly treated ; but he, with many others, 
is beginning to think he has rights above 
the cattle, and hunger seems to sharpen men’s 
wits.” 

“ It is a cruel, cruel law that gives these men 
to be the slaves of those who inform against 
them. My father don’t mean to be cruel,” said 


The Feast Without Guests, 41 

Cecily pleadingly, the tears filling her eyes as 
she spoke. 

“ No, no ; he only forgets that the knaves are 
men,” said the squire quickly; “but it is the 
forgetting this that makes all the mischief” 

“ But why did they pass such a wicked law ? ” 
exclaimed Cecily passionately. 

“ To serve the people with instead of bread, it 
would seem, since it was passed to stop beg- 
ging,” said the squire ironically. 

“Ah, the council and the Parliament are wise, 
I doubt not, but they will learn yet that hunger 
knows no law ; and who can tell but that this 
bidding priests to marry is as bad.?” said Dame 
Audley. 

“Now, don’t fret, good dame, and think, be- 
cause one law is not good, that all new laws are 
bad. But tell me now, Mistress Temple, about 
these lads going off. When did they go .? ” 
“Yesterday; and I heard this morning that 
many more had gone from the village: — had gone 
to Norfolk, where one Master Kett, a tanner, had 
promised them a better Reformation than the 
king and archbishop would give them,-’ 

“The monks are at the bottom of it. A 
better Reformation, forsooth ! I wonder what 
the silly knaves will believe next ; ” and Squire 
Audley passed up and down the room in his 


42 


Cecily. 


excitement. Presently he came back to where 
Cecily was sitting with his wife, and said, “ I 
must see Sir Peter about these matters, for the 
poor knaves will run into trouble if wiser heads 
think not for them.’* 

My father will, doubtless, be glad to see 
you, but I fear his thoughts are too much given 
to the news brought by a messenger from Lon- 
don this morning. The lord protector has list- 
ened to the complaints of the poor people 
about the common lands being inclosed, and 
news has come that the fences must at once be 
removed.” 

‘‘I am glad of it,” impulsively spoke the 
squire ; ‘‘ it will teach the people that this new 
religion was not invented to rob the Church and 
enrich the nobles, as the monks teach them.” 

‘‘ My father is very angry about it,” said 
Cecily quietly ; ‘‘ so do not tell him what you 
think. Do you believe Hodge would be 
brought back at once ? ” asked Cecily rather 
anxiously. 

“Your father has not sent to search for 
him said the squire questioningly. 

Cecily shook her head, and her cheeks grew 
crimson as she whispered, “ I wish you could 
fetch him back, or— or he will be made a slave 
for all his life.” 


The Feast Without Guests. 43 

Squire Audley looked down eompassionately 
at the bowed head and shame-stricken face, 
and saw how nobly this girl was trying to save 
her father from the commission of a great 
wrong, and poor Hodge from further suffering. 

“ I will go, myself, in search of the knave, 
and it may be that I shall learn something more 
concerning this gathering at Norfolk,’' said the 
squire ; and he went to look after his sons, and 
to see that his servants brought the cattle to 
the home-field ; for there was no telling what 
the foolish people might do, urged on by the 
priests and monks, who were constantly coming 
and going. 

But, truth to tell, although Squire Audley 
took these precautions, and went, moreover, to 
look at the moat with its drawbridge, to see that 
it could be made serviceable if necessary, still 
he did not think seriously that there would be 
any danger in this gathering of discontented 
men at Norfolk. 

Rupert walked round with his father to see 
that the fortifications of the house were all in 
efficient order in case of an attack from the 
mob who would follow at the heels of Kett, the 
tanner. 

I have heard of the man before, and I could 
wish he went more wisely to work,” said Squire 


44 


Cecily. 


Audley, as he and Rupert examined the chains 
and pulleys that held the drawbridge in its 
place. 

‘‘ Is it not treason to incite the king’s lieges 
to resist the law ? ” asked Rupert. 

“Aye, that it is. But talk not of treason. 
Ret means not treason. He would be the 
friend of the poor ; and the king hath been ill- 
advised in the matter of this vagrancy and how 
to stop it. The lord protector, too, forgets that 
men are beginning to think for themselves 
about many things, and can no longer be driven 
like dumb sheep to the bidding of any man.” 

“ But they will do the bidding of this Kett,” 
said Rupert. 

“Yes, because they believe in him — believe 
he is their friend, and will give them a better 
Reformation than* these new doctrines can ever 
bring. But look to these chains, and see that 
they are in working order. I can see Sir Peter 
Temple riding this way, and I want to have a 
word with him about these foolish knaves;” 
and Squire Audley hurried forward to meet the 
baronet before he should reach the house. He 
reined in his horse as the squire approached, 
and tried to put some little curb on his temper ; 
but this was harder work than controlling his 
charger. They had scarcely exchanged the 


The Feast Without Guests, 


45 


usual salutations, when he burst into a storm of 
angry invective against the council and Parlia- 
ment, but especially against the lord protector, 
Somerset. 

‘‘ He is ruining the country to enrich him- 
self, and does it in the kings name. He has 
taken two hundred manors for himself, and 
thrown down several religious houses in Lon- 
don to build himself a mansion on the bank of 
the Thames ; and since even his own brother is 
now beginning to resist his extortion, he thinks 
to make friends of the common people by list- 
ening to their clamor about the inclosure of the 
commons.’* 

Sir Peter had talked himself almost out of 
breath, but his anger had by no means abated 
yet, and when the squire ventured to say that 
every village had the right of pasturage on the 
common from time immemorial, the baronet’s 
wrath was at once turned against him. 

So you, too, are one of the seditious mob 
who would run to crown the Norfolk tanner 
rather than his grace. King Edward,” he pas- 
sionately exclaimed. 

I know but little of this man, who seems to 
have made himself a leader of the discontented, 
blit I would bid you have a care. Sir Peter, as 
to whom you call seditious.” 


46 


Cecily. 


Care ? I don’t care !” said the angry baronet ; 

I tell you I have been most shamefully used. 
A few barren acres are given me for long years 
of service and exposure in the field of battle, 
and these are grudged by the Church and the 
monks who have been turned out to make room 
for me ; and, as if it wasn’t enough that a 
swarm of friars should set my own servants 
against me, my neighbors, who ought to know 
better, do the same.” 

“What do you mean. Sir Peter inquired 
the squire haughtily. 

The baronet was not very particular as to the 
language he used, and told the squire, in no 
doubtful terms, that he had counseled Hodge 
Watkins to run away from his service. 

The squire looked at his neighbor in no small 
astonishment when he heard this. “ Why, I 
have not seen the poor fellow since — ” 

“ There, did I not say you had set the man 
against me } Poor fellow, indeed ! ” interrupted 
Sir Peter ; “ what right has he to be called * poor 
fellow ? ’ didn’t I give him as much as the law 
orders — bread and water — which was more than 
he could get before I took him.” 

“ Well, I don’t know what you may think 
about this new law, but I call it a wicked and 
oppressive one, and I cannot but pity poor Hodge. 


The Feast Without Guests, 47 

Do you know what he was before the convent 
came into your hands, Sir Peter ? 

‘‘ No ! I don’t know, and I don’t care ! The 
fellow is my slave now for two years, and I have 
a right to demand that he shall labor in my 
fields and live with my dogs, if I choose to or- 
der it.” 

Yes, that is true, and the law gives you the 
right to do this to a man who was reeve to the 
convent, and a true and trusty servant, too. 
Which is worse, you or the law, I cannot say.” 

“ I only take my rights — that which the law 
gives me,” excitedly exclaimed Sir Peter ; but 
I know you have been setting these people 
against me. That woman Watkins, who came 
whining to me about that knave who has run 
away, told me as much. You and the friar had 
both been setting her on, she said.” 

“ It is false. Sir Peter ; I may have condoled 
with the poor creature on the misery the chang- 
ing times have brought her ; for it is but a year 
or two since she lived in ease and comfort — the 
helper, and comforter, too, of her less fortunate 
neighbors ; for Hodge could support her in 
peace and plenty, and he did it, too, and held 
up his head like a true-born Englishman, af' 
he is.” 

Well, you yourself confess it is the chang- 


48 


Cecily. 


ing times. Why can’t these people submit, as 
they ought ? ” 

And do you think they ought to submit to 
hunger and starvation, which have come to them 
by no fault of theirs, but is the result of a change 
in the religion of the country ? Do you think 
they ought to submit without an effort to better 
their condition ? Would you see your daughter 
perish before your eyes, and make no effort to 
save her } ” 

Sir Peter lost his voice in the astonishment 
he felt at these last words being addressed to 
him. ‘‘ Do you know you are speaking to a 
knight } ” he at length demanded. 

I know that I am speaking to a man,” said 
the squire fearlessly, “ and I appeal to you, and 
your knightly honor, by which you are sworn 
to protect the weak, that you remember these 
poor creatures are men like yourself ; and now, 
Sir Peter, I will wish you good-day ; ” and with 
a courteous bow Squire Audley passed on, leav- 
ing the angry horseman to turn back or pursue 
his way to the house as he pleased. 


Popular Discontent, 


49 


CHAPTER IV. 

POPULAR DISCONTENT. 

S QUIRE AUDREY kept his word, and went 
in search of Hodge Watkins ; for if he did 
not return to his master within a fortnight he 
would be branded on the cheek or forehead with 
the letter S, and be a slave for the rest of his 
life ; and Sir Peter was not the man to show him 
any mercy, especially just now. 

But, although Squire Audley fell in with troops 
of men every few rods that he rode, all journey- 
ing the same way, and talking of the Reforma- 
tion, at the oak near Norwich where Kett was 
marshaling his hosts, he saw nothing of Wat- 
kins ; and at last he thought it wiser to turn back, 
for he began to fear that this was no mere paltry 
riot, but a formidable insurrection, which might 
involve the safety of his own home if he did 
not take immediate precautions and strengthen 
his fortifications. Mildred and her husband 
must be warned of their danger, too, and take 
refuge in the old homestead ; so the fate of Wat- 
kins was forgotten for the time in the squire's 
anxiety to secure his own family in safety. 


50 


Cecily. 


When he reached home again he heard from 
Rupert that Sir Peter had gone to London and 
taken his daughter with him, and it was thought 
that he might be absent some time ; but when 
he reached the house and went to his wife’s 
chamber he found to his surprise that Cecily 
Temple was sitting with her. 

Why, how is this ? ” exclaimed the squire. 
‘‘I have just heard that you had gone to Lon- 
don, Mistress Temple.” 

“ And you heard truly,” said Cecily, who was 
dressed for traveling, and had only thrown back 
her hood. “We had got beyond the village, 
when my palfrey suddenly fell lame, and I per- 
suaded my father to leave me here to sit awhile 
with Dame Audley, while he went back with 
the servants to know what could ail it, and 
bring me another. Did you find Hodge Wat- 
kins she asked in a lower tone. 

The squire shook his head. “ All the beg- 
gars of England are journeying to Norfolk, it 
seems, and I have hastened back to put my 
house in order for fear the tanner should think 
of going with his ragged hosts to London, and 
pass this way.” 

“ My father has heard that he is arming and 
training them as much like an army as he can,” 
said Cecily, turning pale as she spoke. 


Popular Discontent, 


SI 


The squire sighed. ‘‘ Mischief will come of 
it/' he said, ‘^and it is all through these va- 
grancy laws. But why are you journeying to 
London at this time } " he asked. The priory 
could be more easily defended than my poor 
manor-house ; and it would be better for Sir 
Peter to see to these things himself, especially 
as he has been a soldier." 

‘‘Yes, my father is greatly vexed that he is 
obliged to leave at this time, but he has been 
sent for by the council, and fears he may be 
sent to Boulogne with fresh troops ; in which 
case he thinks I shall be safer in London with 
some of my old friends about the court." 

“ I am very sorry you are going, my dear," 
said Dame Audley ; “ but then if we are to have 
such trouble as the squire fears I shall not 
grudge your being in safety, though I did hope 
to see you very often, as you promised Mildred 
to come and see me. Now both my girls are 
gone away, I do feel almost lost sometimes ;" 
and the poor lady could hardly restrain her 
tears as she spoke. 

She did not feel much alarm as to her own 
personal safety, for she believed that, with the 
moat filled, and the various other means of de- 
fense they possessed, their home was as impreg- 
nable as a castle ; but it was what the swiftly- 
4 


Cecily. 


52 

changing times might bring to her children that 
almost crushed her spirit, and this was the ever- 
recurring topic of conversation. 

Cecily felt almost inclined to laugh at what 
seemed to her such far-fetched fears, but when 
she reached London the next day she heard 
some news that sent her thoughts back to 
Dame Audley at once. 

The counties of Devon and Cornwall were 
in insurrection, and Lord Russell, failing to 
subdue the rebels, had been forced to enter in- 
to negotiations. The terms proposed had just 
been sent by special messenger to the council. 
They demanded that the ancient service of the 
mass should be restored ; that the repealed 
'' Act of the Six Articles '' — an act which the 
late king in one of his relapses into popery 
had issued against heresy, and which, from its 
severity, was popularly known as the whip 
with six strings— should be re-enacted ; that 
Cardinal Pole should be admitted to the coun- 
cil, and at least two abbeys restored in every 
county. 

The influence of the monks and priests was 
very evident in these demands^ but the council 
had to proceed with caution in rejecting them, 
for the rising in Norfolk was more threatening 
still, and foreign troops had to be hired to be 


Popular Discontent. 53 

sent against these poor, ignorant dupes of the 
wily monks. 

Cecily Temple had been placed by her father 
with her friend Mildred Cooke — now young 
Dame Cecil. Her father, Sir Anthony Cooke, 
being preceptor to the young king, and her 
husband being occupied, also, in business about 
the court. Dame Cecil had made her home near 
the Fen Church, and not far from the Tower, 
where the king often resided. Here Cecily 
Temple met with many of her old friends, and 
heard all the particulars about the death of her 
royal mistress, Catherine Parr, who, after the 
death of Henry VHI, had married the lord pro- 
tector's brother, Seymour, but had died in giv- 
ing birth to a daughter. 

Lady Jane Grey and the Princess Elizabeth 
had both resided with the queen dowager, and 
they, like Cecily Temple, had profited much 
from the instruction of this pious and learned 
lady. Dame Cecil, too, was no less accom- 
plished than either of these, and could speak 
Greek and Latin as well as her native English. 
But, better than all, to Cecily she was a gentle, 
sympathizing friend, near enough her own age 
to understand her difficulties, and feel for her in 
her anxiety about her father ; for Cecily could 
not hide the fact from herself, any more than 


S4 


Cecily. 


she could from others, that he really cared noth- 
ing for religion, and was a Protestant only in 
name and from policy. London had hardly re- 
covered yet from the novelty of the introduction 
of the new Book of Common Prayer, and one of 
the first questions Cecily asked her friend was 
of that famous Whitsunday morning when the 
service in English was read for the first time in 
the Fen Church. 

“ I shall never forget it,” said Dame Cecil, 
the tears welling up to her eyes as she spoke. 
‘‘ It seemed like what the song of the angels 
must be when all the congregation joined aloud 
in the Lord’s Prayer — the sweet, tender, “ Our 
Father!” 

O how I should like to have heard it ! ” said 
Cecily scarcely less moved. ‘‘ Things are so 
different in the country ; and O, Mildred, I be- 
gan to feel ashamed of the name ^ Protestant ’ 
and ‘ Gospeler ’ there, for it has such a different 
meaning to the poor people who were helped 
by the convent as long as the monks were there, 
but are left to starve now that all the fields are 
turned into sheep runs.” 

“ Yes, I have heard that the. people round my 
old home are very angry at the changes that 
have been made ; but here people are grumbling 
that things have not gone far enough, and al- 


Popular Discontent, 55 

ready there are whispers that the prayer-book 
must be speedily revised.” 

O dear, I hope they wont spoil it. I think 
it is almost perfect,” exclaimed Cecily; ‘‘They 
have taken all my favorite prayers from the 
breviary, and now, in our own English tongue, 
they seem more beautiful than ever. I do think 
if the people could only understand that most 
of the. prayers in the new book have been taken 
from the old one, and translated into our own 
tongue, they would not grumble and make such 
a fuss about it as they do.” 

“ Of course, it is ignorance that causes all the 
mischief, and that is why learning is such a 
helpful handmaid to the new doctrines,” said 
Dame Cecil. “ We do not see so much of it in 
London, but still there are many who will not 
conform to the new state of things, who yet go 
on mumbling the very same prayers in Latin 
that we use in English, and think, because they 
are in an unknown tongue, they must be so 
much more acceptable to God. Only yesterday 
I was talking to a woman, and asking her to 
teach her children the Lord’s Prayer in English, 
but she shook her head most indignantly, and 
told me they should learn the good old Pater- 
noster, as she had when she was a girl. I could 
not help smiling, and yet I felt grieved that she 


56 


Cecily. 


would not believe they were the same prayers, 
only in a different language.” 

'' It is a pity the priests do not tell the people 
that there is no other difference than such as is 
caused by the change from Latin into English, 
and that it is better to learn the Lord’s Prayer 
in English than in a language they cannot un- 
derstand.’" 

Dame Cecil shook her head. “ My dear 
Cecily, do you not see that if every body learned 
even the Lord’s Prayer only, in English, a great 
part of the power of the priests would be gone ? 
‘ Paternoster ’ is a long word conveying no 
meaning beyond its mere sound to thousands 
who use it ; but ‘ Our Father !’ for the people to 
learn that God had commanded them to pray 
to him for themselves, that he wanted them to 
approach him as needy little children would go 
to their earthly parent — why, do you not see 
that there would soon be no further need of a 
priest to come between them and God as the 
appointed intercessor, and the whole doctrine 
of the intercession of the saints and Virgin must 
very soon follow ? No, no, my dear ; the priests 
will never help the people to learn the Lord’s 
Prayer in English ; they are doing all they can 
to hinder it, and to set the people against the 
new and more simple mode of worship,’" 


Popular Discontent, 


57 


The people complain, I know, that there is 
nothing to see, now the images are removed, and 
the incense no longer used, and music stopped, 
as it is in many places. They say it is dull ; 
but to me the beautiful English prayers are full 
of life, and we need nothing to attract our 
senses from pondering on the sweet solemn 
words.” 

You have a godly earnest man at Edendale 
now, I know ; but, .my dear, all priests are not 
like Father Boyne. Many of them hate the new 
way, and make the service as uninteresting as 
they can by mumbling over or gabbling through 
the prayers, so that the English they speak is 
no easier to comprehend than the Latin that 
used to be sung ; and when one considers that 
so few can read, and fewer still afford to buy a 
book — that they are wholly dependent upon what 
they hear from the priest — it is not surprising 
that many complain of the change in religion.” 

But couldn't the archbishop appoint true 
and godly men, who have learned to know that 
the new way is better than the old supersti- 
tion ^ ” inquired Cecily. 

Where are the men to be found ? Our 
bishops, Latimer and Ridley, as well as the 
archbishops, are doing all they can, and no one 
is now to be appointed to the ofiSce of priest 


58 


Cecily. 


who cannot read, and homilies compiled by the 
bishops are to be read where the priest cannot 
preach, instead of the old legends of the saints 
being recited. But still there is much to be 
done, and the Reformation has many secret ene- 
mies, although it is patronized by the king and 
court, and learned men are coming from all 
parts of Europe to teach in our universities the 
new doctrines of Luther and Zwinglius.” 

“ Luther is dead, and Zwinglius too. If they 
had lived, perhaps they would have come to 
England to help us,’' said Cecily with a sigh. 

‘‘ My dear, do not distress yourself. God, 
who taught Luther, lives and reigns. You for- 
get our God is king of all the earth,” said Dame 
Cecil hopefully. 

But Cecily shook her head. ‘‘ If you had lived 
in the country lately you would understand 
better about the enemies of the Reformation, 
and how it is many hate it so much. People 
used to grumble about the monks and friars 
being greedy and living in luxury, and because 
of this and the evil lives of the priests men 
welcomed the new religion. But, now the 
monks are turned out of house and home, peo- 
ple remember the daily dole given at the con- 
vent gates, and how the nuns were always 
ready to help them with herb tea and distilled 


Popular Discontent, 5g 

waters when they were sick, and that the fields 
were plowed and sown, and food cheap ; but 
now the 'Gospelers' who hold the convent 
lands care nothing for the poor, but make food 
scarce by using the land for pasture/* 

‘‘ My dear Cecily, is it really so bad as you 
say ? ’* asked Dame Cecil. 

“ O, yes ; I see it and feel it every day,** said 
Cecily, until I am ashamed to be called a Gos- 
peler. And, of course, the monks are not slow 
to point out the difference the two religions 
make in the condition of the poor. O, why 
were these abbey lands disposed of so unjust- 
ly } ** said the young lady passionately. 

Dame Cecil shook her head thoughtfully. 
‘‘ I know that Archbishop Cranmer is anxious 
about this very thing, but I did not think it was 
so serious.** 

It seems to me that some people always 
take the side of the persecuted ; and, now these 
monks wander about the country begging and 
telling the people that God*s anger is roused 
against the land because of the persecution 
against them, the very men who were loudest 
in condemning them before take their part, and 
talk of them as saints and martyrs.’* 

Saints and martyrs, indeed ! ** exclaimed 
Dame Cecil, impatiently. They are wolves in 


6o 


Cecily. 


sheep’s clothing ! Let them do some honest 
work, instead of begging from those who can 
scarce afford to feed themselves.” 

But you forget there is no employment even 
for those who would work,” said Cecily rue- 
fully. 

“ Well, they could at least refrain from incit- 
ing the people to rebel against the king’s au- 
thority. Come, Cecily, you have made me feel 
quite disheartened by your sad picture of things ; 
let us call the servants to attend us to Paul’s 
Cross. Our Bishop Ridley is to preach there 
this afternoon, and it will cheer us to hear some 
of his stirring words.” 

Dame Cecil at once gave orders that a reti- 
nue of retainers and one or two maids should 
be ready to attend her and Cecily Temple to 
St. Paul’s Church-yard, where on one side of 
the wide open green space this famous rostrum 
stood. 

Paul’s Cross has been rightly called the Ther- 
mopylae of the Reformation, for here it was that 
Latimer, Ridley, and others, fought the giant 
superstition that had so long held England in 
bondage to Rome. It was the plain, simple 
gospel message proclaimed by these men, in 
the very heart of London, in the ears of king 
and beggar, citizen and stranger, alike, that, 


Popular Discontent, 6 1 

next to the printing of the Bible, did more 
than any thing else to open men’s minds to the 
gross imposture that had been practiced upon 
them for so many ages. 

It was considered needful, in these days, for 
ladies of rank to travel, even a few paces from 
their own door-step, with a host of servants in 
attendance ; and so Dame Cecil and Cecily, 
escorted and followed by footmen and stewards, 
made their way through the narrow London 
streets to the green open space surrounding the 
old pulpit cross, where the heroic, divinely- 
taught men contended with a host of enemies, 
determined to know nothing among men but 
Jesus Christ and him crucified. 


62 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER V. 

A CHRISTMAS FESTIVAL. 

BRILLIANT company was gathered in 



the mansion of the dowager Duchess of 
Suffolk, who, with her two young sons, Duke 
Henry and Charles, had come to keep Christ- 
mas in London. 

Christmas revels were elaborate affairs in 
those days, and although the tide of fashion had 
turned in favor of less luxury and display in the 
affairs of every-day life as well as religion, still 
the lord of misrule held his court, and his revels 
were most gorgeous. 

The dresses of the assembled company were 
a sight not often seen ; for here, among these 
dames of high degree, no limit was imposed by 
the sumptuary laws, and they were only excelled 
by the gentlemen, who w’ould have disdained 
to appear in any thing less dainty than white 
satin, crimson velvet, or cloth of gold. 

Among the ladies richly embroidered petti- 
coats, with velvet trains and stomachers set 
with pearls and jewels, were the prevailing 
fashion, although there were one or two ladies 


A Christmas Festival. 63 

’ present who could not aspire to wear velvet ; 
but these made ample amends in the costliness 
of the embroidery, or the richness of the satin and 
damask of which their dresses were composed. 
The Duchess of Suffolk had mingled but little 
in fashionable life since the death of her hus- 
band, and of her dear friend, Queen Catharine 
Parr ; but she had taken up her residence near 
Cambridge, were her two sons were studying 
under the famous reformer, Martin Bucer. 
The sympathies of the duchess were all on the 
side of the reformed faith, and she had come to 
London now to ascertain, by her own observa- 
tion, the drift of the two opposing factions that 
divided the governing powers of the country. 

The young king was little more than the tool 
of either party, but since the story had reached 
her of Edward’s appealing to the people when 
he was at Hampton Court to be good to him 
and his uncle, the lord protector, and that this 
had been quickly followed by the imprisonment 
of the protector, Somerset, while his rival, the 
Earl of Warwick, had gained possession of the 
king, and won the interest of the citizens of 
London, she determined to come to the city, 
and ascertain for herself whither the ambition 
of the two parties was likely to tend. 

Religion is made the stalking-horse, of 


64 


• Cecily* 


course, Master Cecil, but ambition is at the 
root of all these quarrels,'’ said the duchess. 

Master Cecil shook his head in cautious dep- 
recation of both sides, and proceeded to ask if 
the duchess had obtained the nursery plate of 
little Mary Seymour, the daughter of her friend 
Queen Catharine, whose father had been be- 
headed a few months previously, and had com^ 
mitted his child to the care of his wife’s early 
friend, the Duchess of Suffolk. This unfortu- 
nate little girl had been most royally provided 
for by her mother, but her costly nursery plate 
had been seized by her uncle, who refused to 
part with her belongings when he gave up the 
child to the care of the duchess. 

The mention of this bone of contention 
roused the lady at once. ‘'No ! my little nurs- 
ling, Mary, will never obtain her own while her 
uncle has the power to retain it. My Lord 
of Warwick may love power, but he cannot love 
riches more than doth my Lord Somerset. 
Howbeit, I am truly sorry that he is in such 
evil case, for he is well disposed toward the Ref- 
ormation, whereas I mistrust Warwick.” 

“ But why should your grace do this ? ” asked 
Cecil. 

“ Because — but no whisper of this must go 
abroad, Master Cecil — but he has written to 


A Christmas Festival. 65 

my lady, the Princess Mary, touching her ap- 
pointment as regent of the kingdom.” 

Cecil started as he heard this. Is your 
grace certain of this ? ” he asked. 

‘‘ So certain, that the princess is coming to 
pay me a visit in all privacy, that she may see 
and hear for herself, and judge whether this 
proposal is made in all sincerity,” replied the 
duchess. 

'‘The king and council would never agree to 
it,” said Cecil hastily. 

“ I think it is but a wile of Warwick's to have 
the princess in his power, and, poor lady, she 
has suffered enough of late with her ill health, 
and the harassments of the council concerning 
the performance of mass in her household. 
Different as our faith is, I cannot but hold with 
her, that she being but a private gentlewoman, 
the council has no right to interfere with the 
ordering of her household, and if she and her 
servants desire to attend mass, they have no 
right to imprison the priest.” 

Cecil was too politic to give an opinion ad- 
verse to that of the council in this matter, and 
the entrance of the Marchioness of Dorset, the 
lady’s step-daughter, gave an opportune break 
to the conversation. This haughty lady, who 
was the daughter of the Princess Mary, favorite 


66 


Cecily. 


sister of Henry VIII, and a former wife of 
the late Duke of Suffolk, bowed stiffly to her 
young step-mother, and passed on to greet an- 
other lady of the company ; but her daughter, 
who was following meekly behind, raised her 
pensive eyes and furtively greeted her grandame 
with a glad smile. 

“ Stay one moment, my Lady Jane,” said the 
duchess, laying her hand on her young rela- 
tive’s shoulder, and the marchioness turned 
and bowed her permission. 

The young lady breathed a sigh of relief at 
thus being released for a minute or two. 

‘‘ Now tell me how you are getting on with 
your studies. I hope you have not forgotten 
the pious example and instruction of your friend 
Catharine, the queen.” 

‘‘No, indeed, I could never forget what I 
learned from that most excellent lady,” said 
Lady Jane, the tears welling up to her eyes, as 
she spoke. 

“ And you still continue the study of Latin 
and Greek ? ” asked the duchess, whose own 
two sons were clever scholars. 

“ Life would be of little worth to me if I had 
not the companionship of such books as these 
languages give me,” said Lady Jane warmly. 

“ I am glad to hear it, for so few ladies in 


A Christmas Festival. 


67 


these days can even read or write ; but you 
and the princesses, with my Lord Somerset’s 
daughters, will, I trust, prove notable excep- 
tions. Now go to your mother, and present- 
ly I will bring some young damsels to you for 
company.” , 

"'Is the Princess Elizabeth here.^” whispered 
Jane, looking around the room. 

“No, no, child. Ask not about the princess 
just now ; she is ill, and in disgrace with the 
council ; but love her all the same, for I doubt 
not that you, as well as she, have grieved for 
the death of my Lord Seymour.” 

“Yes, he was ever kind to me, as well as to 
the princess, while we lived with the good lady. 
Queen Catharine, his wife.” Then the Lady 
Jane hastened to her mother’s side, but was 
greeted with a frown and a blow from the large 
fan she carried. 

“ Kneel down, impudent girl,” commanded 
her mother ; and, scarcely knowing how to re- 
strain her sobs and tears. Lady Jane Grey 
kneeled meekly down by the side of the bench 
where her mother was sitting. Deference to 
parents was carried to a length almost absurd 
in those days, and though few mothers would 
have made a daughter of thirteen kneel in 

the midst of a large, mixed company, no one 
5 


68 


Cecily. 


seemed to think the Marchioness of Dorset un- 
duly severe. But the young lady felt truly 
grateful to her grandmother, when, an hour 
later, she brought her two young friends. Dame 
Cecil and Cecily Temple, and presented them 
to the marchioness, and at the same time peti- 
tioned that Lady Jane might be allowed to en- 
tertain Mistress Temple. 

Her mother graciously permitted her to do 
this, and at the same time invited Dame Cecil 
to a seat beside her, for she was a person of 
some political importance, owing to the posi- 
tion her husband held under the council ; and 
the marchioness was no less ambitious in her 
way than either Somerset or Warwick. She 
never forgot the fact that her mother was a 
princess, and the dowager queen of Louis, king 
of France, and she had resolved that her daugh- 
ter Jane should be queen in turn if it were pos- 
sible to accomplish it. Young as Lady Jane 
Grey was, the plan of marrying her to King 
Edward was busying the brains of others as 
well as her mother. Not only the reformers of 
England, but those on the Continent also, had, 
in their own minds, at least, made the Ref- 
ormation in England secure by the union of 
Edward with his beautiful and pious cousin ; 
for the fame of the young lady’s extraordinary 


A Christmas Festival. 69 

learning and piety had traveled far beyond her 
native land. So the marchioness cautiously 
told Dame Cecil something of this while Jane 
herself and Cecily went in search of their 
friends, the daughters of the lord protector. 

These three ladies were almost as highly edu- 
cated as Lady Jane Grey ; for one of them was 
destined, by her ambitious father at least, to oc- 
cupy the exalted position coveted by the Mar- 
chioness of Dorset for her daughter. Fortu- 
nately, the young people themselves were in 
blissful ignorance of the dreams their parents 
indulged about their wearing the crown of En- 
gland, and just now the protector’s daughters 
were in too much sorrow and trouble concern- 
ing their father to think of much besides. News 
had just reached them, too, of the death of the 
Queen of Navarre. 

“ It is all over with the Reformation in 
France now,” said Lord Hereford, as his sister 
concluded her recital of the news that had just 
reached them. 

Lady Jane lifted her eyes to the young no- 
bleman, who was bending over her. ‘‘Do you 
not think that God can take care of it, as well 
as Queen Margaret.^” she asked simply. 

“ Yes, indeed, my Lady Jane, but since the 
Reformers have all been driven from Paris, 


70 


Cecily. 


many of them found a refuge at the court of 
the Queen of Navarre, and from there they 
could reach many of the southern villages ; 
but now they must fly to Geneva, as Calvin 
has done. I greatly fear that France will now 
crush out all that remains of her Reformation/' 

“ It seems that the destiny of nations as well 
as of individuals is involved in this religious 
question," said Lady Margaret Seymour. 

Yes, for it is not only religion, but liberty, 
learning, and freedom from priestly control of 
our conscience, that we are fighting for now," 
said her brother ; and there is little doubt but 
that he looked upon his father as a martyr in 
the good cause, although we, looking back, can 
see that Somerset was self-seeking in many of 
his aims, and put forth the plea of religion to 
cover his own grasping rapacity. 

Political intrigue entered so largely into the 
life of many of the upper classes then that even 
this social Christmas gathering was not exempt. 
Doubtless every one of the duchess' guests had 
his own private aims and ambitions, which would 
act as the secret springs of his action in sup- 
porting or opposing the tottering fame and for- 
tune of the imprisoned Duke of Somerset ; but 
even beyond this the duchess was going to 
allow her assembly to be used in the duke's in- 


A ChrisUnas Festival, 


71 


terest, for a warm partisan of the duke's was 
chosen as the lord of misrule, and, being ac- 
counted a fool for the time being, was allowed 
to do and say many things that could not be 
reprehended just now. 

There was plenty of fun and frolic, and 
much gay laughing at the mummers and the 
pranks of the lord of misrule, and at his quaint 
speeches to one and another of the lords and 
ladies assembled. 

By adroit management these speeches were 
made to bear a deep political signification very 
often, although to the unthinking they seemed 
nothing but wild fun and banter. Many a good 
word was spoken for the Duke of Somerset that 
night, and many of damaging report of the am- 
bition, rapacity, and hypocrisy of his rival was 
set going at the same time. 

This last charge was more than suspected 
by many besides the Duchess of Suffolk, for 
Warwick had been a stanch Catholic as long 
as this did not stand in the way of his prefer- 
ment, but when the reformed doctrines became 
fashionable he embraced them. The change, 
however, was made too suddenly for men not to 
suspect its sincerity. It was at his instigation 
that the Duke of Somerset had been arrested 
and committed to the Tower on a charge of 


72 


Cecily. 


conspiring to kill several of the council ; but 
many believed that he himself was aspiring to 
the supreme control of the State, and the lord 
of misrule did not spare him in his allusions and 
innuendoes to-night. 

But while this important personage was 
practicing his mad antics, and the mummers 
were performing their parts, the groups of 
young people standing together found time to 
talk of more serious matters. As they stood 
together now a stranger would have noticed 
that they were all more simply and plainly 
dressed than any other ladies in the room. 
This was especially noticeable in Lady Jane 
Grey, and Lord Hereford remarked it. The 
young lady colored slightly, but said, ‘‘ Master 
Latimer is so often preaching against extrava- 
gance in dress, and good Master Aylmer has 
warned me so many times against yielding to 
vanity and the love of vain show, that, now I am 
permitted to order my own apparel, I will always 
have it neat and becoming to a simple maiden.'* 

The young nobleman smiled, but his sister 
was ready with a joke about Lady Jane follow- 
ing her pattern cousin, the Princess Elizabeth. 
‘‘And I have heard, too, that my Lady Mary 
had sent you a very handsome dress for a birth- 
day gift,*’ said Lady Margaret. 


A Christmas Festival. 


73 


‘‘Yes, she did ; but why should I follow my 
Lady Mary, who holds by the mass which we 
have renounced, and not my Lady Elizabeth, 
who follows God’s word ? ” 

Then Margaret Seymour asked if Lady Jane 
had heard her father’s chaplain preach. “ Mas- 
ter Hooper preached before the king and court, 
and urged that there should be a further reform 
in the ordering of common prayer,” she said. 

Cecily started at these words. “ Another re- 
form ! ” she said. “ What can he mean ? Many 
are complaining now that things have been too 
much altered.” 

“ I heard that Master Hooper urged that 
there should be a more thorough reformation of 
the Church than had been yet attempted,” said 
Lady Jane Grey. 

“ Yes, he was preaching from Jonah, and used 
such freedom of speech that my father feared 
the archbishop would be offended ; but Master 
Cranmer only shook his head when some one 
spoke to him about the bold sermon, and said, 

‘ We must be cautious ; we are not in Geneva. 
The king is young, too, and the times are un- 
settled.’ ” 

“ Master Cranmer is wise,” said Cecily. 

“And so is Master Hooper,” said Jane Sey- 
mour warmly. “ I know not what we should do 


74 


Cecily. 


without his godly help and counsel in this time 
of trouble. Cecily, you should go to St. PauFs, 
and hear him expound the Scriptures. Some- 
times he has to go twice in the day, so many 
come to hear him, and he always goes four 
times a week, for every one is so eager to know 
w^hat the Scriptures teach concerning many 
things that it is difficult to get readers enough.” 

I have not heard Master Hooper, but I have 
been several times to Paul’s Cross with my 
friend. Dame Cecil, to hear Master Ridley and 
Master Latimer.” 

“ Were you there one afternoon in November 
when good Master Latimer forgot the time, and 
never noticed, either, that it was growing dark ? ” 
asked Lord Hereford. 

Cecily laughed and nodded, as she recalled her 
fright that afternoon. “Yes, indeed, we were 
there, and my lord mayor and the aldermen ; and 
so earnest was the good bishop that he never 
closed his sermon until it was dark, and the 
link men had to conduct my lord mayor home. 
Dame Cecil and I were frightened at first, but 
the footman got some links after a time, and 
lighted us home in safety ; but I had almost 
forgotten the sermon in the fright, so that I 
hope it will not happen again.” 

Then the conversation turned upon the num- 


A Christmas Festival. 


75 


ber of learned foreigners who had come to En- 
gland, and how Dame Cecil’s sister was trans- 
lating three of the sermons of the wonderful 
Italian preacher, Ochino ; and then the efforts 
that had been made to preach the Gospel in 
Italy — in the very States of the Pope — were 
eagerly discussed. But it seemed that every- 
where, except in England and some of the 
German States, there were the most active 
measures being taken to suppress these new 
doctrines. 

England is the home, the refuge, of the Ref- 
ormation, and here it cannot be crushed now,” 
said Lady Jane Grey, in a tone of triumph. 
Cecily wished she could feel as confident about 
this as her friend. She could not but recall 
what had taken place under Kett, the tanner, 
only a few months before, and what the chief 
demands of the Devonshire rebels had been. 


76 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE PRINCESS MARY. 



ECILY TEMPLE renewed some old 


friendships and made some new ones dur- 
ing that Christmas season, and among the latter 
was an acquaintance with the Princess Mary. 
Although many years older than Cecily — for 
Mary was now in her thirty-fifth year — she was 
strongly attracted toward Mistress Temple. 
Perhaps it was her generous sympathy toward 
those who had suftered so severely through the 
suppression of the monasteries that attracted the 
notice of the princess, for it was not many with 
whom she formed a friendship, being too much 
engrossed in bitter reflections on the sorrows of 
her own life and the cruel injustice from which 
her mother had suffered. But the distress and 
misery the poor now endured, and the disgrace 
and unhappiness of her pious mother, all arose 
from the same cause, in the belief of the Prin- 
cess Mary ; and who can wonder that she hated 
the reformed faith with an intensity equaled 
only by the love she bore her gentle, patient, 
cruelly oppressed mother ? But for this Lu- 


77 


The Princess Mary, 

theran heresy her father could never have put 
away his wife, declaring her to be the dowager 
Princess of Wales, and herself illegitimate and 
incapable of occupying the throne ; and the 
means now being used by her brother’s coun- 
selors to induce her to embrace this new faith 
were not likely to recommend it, and only con- 
firmed Mary in her adherence to the mass. 
Some of her servants were now in prison for 
joining her in her attendance at mass, and Mary 
herself knew not how soon she might share the 
imprisonment of Gardiner and Bonner, the two 
popish bishops who were now incarcerated in 
the Tower. 

So few' ever ventured to express sympatTiy with 
the losing cause now — it was so fashionable to 
declare one’s self a Protestant — that to hear 
Cecily Temple say she was half ashamed of the 
name because of the shameful things that were 
done in it, was strange, and the Princess Mary 
was at once attracted toward her. She may 
have thought that it only needed a little per- 
suasion to bring Cecily back to the old faith 
again, and she at once resolved to attempt her 
conversion, and invited her to spend some 
weeks with her during the* following summer at 
her residence at Newhall, in Essex, which was 
only a few miles from Edendale Friary. Cecily 


78 


Cecily. 


accepted the invitation of the princess, subject 
to the consent of her father, but it was not until 
the year 1552 that this promised visit was paid ; 
for Sir Peter Temple did not return from 
France when Boulogne was given up to the 
French, and after his return to London so 
many things occurred to detain him there that 
Essex was not revisited until, the Lady Jane 
Grey and two or three other mutual frien 's 
being invited to a hawking party, Cecily Tem- 
ple at last found an opportunity of paying her 
promised visit. 

The princess received her young guests very 
kindly, and was especially pleased to see Cecily 
Temple, who she fancied would become an 
easy convert to the old faith if she could only 
talk to her quietly, changes from one religion 
to the other being not infrequent in those days. 

But for a few days there was little quiet at 
Newhall, for the mansion was full of company, 
and little was heard of but the hawks, dogs, and 
falcons. Cecily and Lady Jane Grey contrived 
to get a few moments’ conversation sometimes, 
but the sorrow and disgrace of their dear friends, 
the Seymours, occupied most of their thoughts 
just now ; for the lord protector, released from 
the Tower a few weeks after that fes 4 ve gather- 
ing at the Duchess of Suffolk’s house, had been 


The Princess Mary, 79 

rearrested, and early in this year, 1552, was be- 
headed on Tower Hill. 

I cannot understand how my good cousin 
could be turned against his uncle by that wily 
earl of Warwick, who plotted his destruction 
that he might rise on his ruin.’' 

“ I pity most the poor Lady Anne, who has 
wedded the earl’s son ; for while she is grieving 
so sorely for the death of her oWn dear father, 
it must seem like a reproach against her hus- 
band’s father, who has been the cause of all her 
misery,” said Cecily Temple, scarcely restrain- 
ing her own tears. 

‘‘Ah, poor Anne Seymour — Anne Lisle, I 
mean — she must needs be wary, even in her 
grief, with such a father-in-law,” said Lady Jane. 
Little did she think that a more cruel fate than 
that of her friend Anne Seymour awaited her- 
self through the ambition of their common 
enemy, or that a single incident which had 
occurred the day before would shut the heart of 
the only friend who could save her from de- 
struction by and by. 

She related it to her friend, now laughing at 
the discomfiture of Lady Anne Wharton, one 
of the queen’s attendants, who was walking with 
her. “ We were passing a papistic chapel, and 
as we passed my Lady Anne bowed, and I. 


8o 


Cecily. 


looking around, thought to see the Princess 
Mary inside, and I said, * Is her highness in 
the chapel ? * ‘ No,* said Lady Anne, ' I make 

obeisance to Him who made us all ; * and I re- 
membered that the host was suspended above 
the altar, and I said, ‘Why, how can that 
which the baker made be He who made us 
all.?*” 

“ O Jane, was not the Lady Anne greatly of- 
fended at your bold speech ? ** asked Cecily 
Temple. 

“ Yes, she thought it very profane, I know ; 
but to me it is absurd to call a wafer — a mere 
piece of bread — the body of our Lord Jesus 
Christ.** 

“ Will the Princess Mary hear of it, do you 
think ? She will not fail to be offended if she 
should.** 

Lady Jane shook her head. “ I cannot help 
it if she does. I would not be guilty of any 
disrespect to her highness ; but I cannot bow 
down to her wafer- god,** she said firmly. 

“ I wish you had stayed with me, instead of 
going with Lady Wharton yesterday,** sighed 
Cecily Temple. 

Lady Jane looked at her friend in surprise. 
“Why, what can it matter.?*’ she said. “The 
‘whip with six strings* — that dreadful act of 


The Princess Mary, 8i 

Parliament to suppress heresy — is not in force 
now/^ 

No, but still I wish it had not happened. 
Who would succeed to the throne, do you think, 
if— .? ” 

“ Succeed King Edward } O Cecily, pray 
do not think of such a thing as King Edward 
dying !” said Lady Jane quickly. She had heard 
nothing of the hopes many cherished that she 
should one day share his throne, but she was 
very sincerely attached, in a cousinly fashion, to 
her royal kinsman. They had so many hopes 
and tastes in common — had shared in the in- 
structions of the same teachers, and read the 
same books — that it would have been strange if 
the royal cousins were not attached to each 
other. 

But — but thinking of it will not cause him 
to die,'' said Cecily Temple. 

‘‘ But do not wish — I cannot think calmly of 
such a thing being possible. O Cecily, God 
would not take the gentle life that is so needful ! 
What would become of our grand English Ref- 
ormation if King Edward were to die V' 

‘‘Then you, too, have thought that the Prin- 
cess Mary would succeed him," said Cecily in a 
whisper. 

“ Who else could have the right } Many of us 


82 


Cecily. 


might wish that the Princess Elizabeth should 
come first, but it could not be — it would not be 
right/’ and Lady Jane shook her head sadly. 

But at this moment their little tete-a-tete was 
broken in upon by another lady calling upon 
them to mount their palfreys, as the hawking 
party were ready to start. 

Lady Jane’s beautiful face flushed as she rec- 
ognized the voice of Lady Anne Wharton ; but 
she had only time to settle her green velvet cap 
with its dainty plume of white feathers, and 
spring into the saddle, and the whole party set 
off with a train of falconers and servants in at- 
tendance, each lady carrying on her wrist or 
shoulder her favorite hawk or falcon. 

Cecily Temple, who could not help thinking 
over Lady Jane Grey’s bold sarcastic words 
about the adoration of the host, soon noticed 
that the Princess Mary studiously avoided meet- 
ing her young cousin ; but toward the close of 
the day Cecily Temple and the princess found 
that they had been left behind by the rest of 
the party — servants and attendants alike having 
forgotten their royal mistress in the eagerness 
of the chase. 

“ Do you know any thing of this neighbor- 
hood, Cecily } ” asked the Princess. Cecily 
shook her head. I have never been here be- 



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She urged her horse through brake and brier. 


I 





The Princess Mary, 85 

fore/’ she said, in a little alarm, looking round 
for some sign of an outlet — some way-mark to 
guide them ; for they seemed to have reached 
the heart of a wood that only grew more dense 
as they went on. They tried one path after the 
other, until at last it began to grow dusk, and 
the princess said in a tone of desperation, 
“ Now, Cecily, follow me : I shall go straight 
forward ; the wood must end somewhere;” and 
she urged her horse through brake and briar, 
often at the peril of being thrown off, or the pal- 
frey falling with her to the ground. 

But after riding on for about an hour their 
perseverance was rewarded by finding them- 
selves on the outskirts of the wood, and a little 
beyond a light was shining from the window of 
a cottage. 

We will go to that house and get some re- 
freshment,” said the princess, whose horse had 
become quite lame. It was about dark now, 
but they found the bridle-path leading to the gar- 
den gate, and had soon left their horses there, 
and were knocking at the door. The house was 
neither cottage nor mansion, but something 
between the two, with a comfortable, well-to-do 
look about it, and a wide, vine-covered, inviting- 
looking porch. 

'' I feel sure the people here are hosoi table, 
6 


86 


Cecily. 


but we will try them. Do not let them know 
who we are at first,” said the Princess Mary. 
Cecily had only time to give a silent assent, for 
the door was opened by a servant, and a gen- 
tleman in the garb of a parish priest came for- 
ward to receive the two ladies. 

Cecily Temple looked at him for a moment 
in perplexity, and then exclaimed, “ It is Master 
Scrope ! ” 

“ Yes, I am Martin Scrope ; but I do not — ” 

“You do not remember me,” laughed Cecily; 
“ where is Dame Mildred, your wife ? I won- 
der whether her memory will not serve her bet- 
ter. But I am forgetting,” she suddenly added ; 
“ Master Scrope, this lady is the Princess Mary, 
and she is in great need of refreshment, and 
our horses are at your gate, and also need 
attention.” 

But Mary had drawn back at the mention of 
Mildred's name, and now said hastily, “ No, no, 
I can accept nothing here — nothing from a per- 
jured priest, who has sold himself and his God.” 

Martin Scrope knew not what to say, and, 
to add to the dilemma, Mildred had come 
down stairs with an infant in her arms, and 
Cecily Temple, despite her royal friend’s anger, 
at once rushed forward to greet her old friend. 

“ Go back, Mildred,” said Master Scrope, 


87 


The Princess Mary. 

“take her up stairs, Mistress Temple, and I will 
leave the house as soon as I have ordered the 
servants to prepare some refreshments for this 
lady." 

But the Princess Mary had retreated to the 
garden, and could not be persuaded to enter the 
house again. The most that Master Scrope 
could do to assist them was to send one servant 
with them to guide them to the best house in 
the parish, and another to Newhall, a distance 
of five miles round by the road, to fetch horses 
and servants to convey the two ladies home by 
torch-light. 

“ Did you know that was the home of a per- 
jured priest.^ asked the princess angrily, after 
they had left the house. 

“ I did not know that Master Scrope lived 
there until he opened the door," said Cecily 
with dignity, for she felt greatly annoyed that 
her friends had been so cruelly hurt and in- 
sulted. 

“ How could you — how dared you enter the 
house of a priest who has broken his vows, and 
gone through the mockery of taking a wife } " 

“ But it was no mockery, your highness. I 
saw them married in Edendale parish church 
three years ago. Dame Mildred Scrope was 
the squire’s daughter, a lady of gentle birth 


88 Cecily. 

and breeding, as well as a most Christian 
maiden/' 

“ O, I doubt not they have gone through the 
impious mockery of a marriage, but it is null 
and void by the laws of the Church, which has 
never sanctioned this time-serving Parliament 
of my young brother, who is but a tool and 
puppet in the hands of Cranmer and the rest 
of the so-called bishops." 

Mary was very angry, or she might not 
have spoken so freely, and Cecily shivered as 
she thought of that one feeble life upon which 
hung the destinies of so many happy homes in 
England. God save King Edward ! might well 
be the prayer and watchword of hundreds of 
husbands and wives, for if Mary came to the 
throne she feared that this, if no further perse- 
cution was attempted, would certainly be carried 
out — the marriage of priests declared illegal, and 
all Dame Audley’s fears, that she had laughed 
at before, would become terrible facts ! 

But Cecily was roused from her sad reverie 
by their arrival at a substantial farm-house, 
where the news of the court ladies being lost 
and benighted caused no small stir in the quiet 
homestead. A plain but substantial meal of 
brown bread, smoked beef and brawn, with 
small ale and lambs-wool to wash it down, was 


The Princess Mary. 


89 


soon spread before the ladies, and the princess 
ate the coarse food as though she had never 
been used to more delicate fare, and praised the 
new-made butter in a way that won all hearts. 

Then she asked about the parish priest, Mas- 
ter Scrope, hoping to hear that he gave small 
attention to his parish beyond exacting the 
tithes, being too much engrossed with his wife 
and children, and the worldly concerns that this 
tie forced upon him. 

Never dreaming but that his visitor would be 
pleased to hear how well the new experiment 
worked, the farmer said, There is not a better 
ordered parish in the county than this, and we 
owe it all to godly Master Scrope and his good 
wife. Why, ’tis the wisest thing that ever was 
done — this permitting priests to marry. I 
wasn’t taken much with the new order of things 
at first, for I rented my farms on easier terms 
under the old abbot than the new squire, and 
for a long time things seemed at sixes and 
sevens, as they Will be in all changes ; but we 
are beginning to see that the new way is best 
after all.” 

But how can that be, when there is none to 
care for the poor, as in the old times } Where 
is the daily dole now ? ” asked the princess 
sharply. 


90 


Cecily. 


“ Well, I am beginning to see that the daily 
dole at the monastery gates kept people in idle- 
ness and dependence, who ought to work and 
help themselves. For those who can’t work — 
the sick and the aged — we make provision by a 
weekly collection of alms in the Church, and 
half the tithes due to the priest are given by 
Master Scrope for this same purpose.” 

“ Then how is this woman he calls his wife 
fed and clothed ? ” asked the princess. 

Master Scrope hath a small patrimony of his 
own,” replied the farmer. 

Ah ! I doubted not the Church had been 
robbed by this hedge priest. His patrimony ? 
All that was his became the property of the 
Church when he entered her service. Ah ! 
truly have evil days fallen upon us when even 
priests can do such things,” concluded the 
princess with a sigh. 

The farmer was too much astonished to an- 
swer, and he was not sorry when a convoy of 
servants, with several knights and ladies in at- 
tendance, came to convey his strange guests 
home by torchlight. 


A Mornings Discussion. 


91 


CHAPTER VIL 

A MORNING’S DISCUSSION. 

HE Princess Mary was as much annoyed 



-L about her adventure with Cecily as Mis- 
tress Temple herself. She had learned by this 
time that the young lady was sole heiress of her 
father, Sir Peter Temple, and the priory of St. 
Agnes, with all its farms and holdings, was no 
mean prize to be won back to the Church. She 
had little doubt but that if she could bring Ceci- 
ly back to the old faith she could eventually per- 
suade her to restore this property to its right- 
ful owners ; so the royal lady distinguished her 
visitor by many marks of her favor ; and when 
Lady Jane Grey and most of her other guests 
departed, Cecily was asked to stay a little longer 
at Newhall, until her father should come to 
Edendale, when she could join him there. 

Of course, Cecily could not refuse, although 
she longed for the quiet of her own home, and 
to hear of her old friends, the Audleys, which 
desire her visit to Martin Scrope's parsonage 
had greatly increased. She had no idea of 
tlie reason why Mary so greatly desired her to 


92 


Cecily. 


prolong her visit, and was somewhat surprised 
when the princess invited her into her cabinet 
one day, and, closing the door, said, “ Did you 
ever see a portrait of my mother, Cecily ? '' and, 
without waiting for an answer, drew aside a 
richly embroidered curtain, disclosing a life-size 
portrait of Catharine of Arragon. 

Cecily could not but be struck with the calm 
majesty of the melancholy face of the fallen 
queen, and exclaimed impulsively, How could 
any one be unkind to such a royal lady ! '' 

“ Only those inspired by the devil or his em- 
issary, Luther,” hissed Mary passionately, for 
she could never look upon this portrait of her 
dead mother unmoved. ‘‘You called her ‘a 
royal lady,’ ” she went on, “ and none more royal 
ever lived, for she was the daughter of two of 
the most powerful monarchs of Spain, the mis- 
tress of the world, and wife to the greatest king 
England has ever seen. But she was more 
than this : she was a saint whose piety few 
could emulate, and none surpass. Although a 
queen, surrounded by all the pomp and splen- 
dor of a court, she had entered the order of St. 
Francis, and always wore the coarse dress of a 
nun under her royal robes.” 

“ Did she desire to be a nun instead of a 
queen ^ ” asked Cecily. 


A Mornings Discussion, 93 

Yes, I doubt not that she earnestly desired 
the quiet, holy peace of a nun's life, for she 
knew how hollow and unsatisfying are all the 
pleasures of the world ; and in the midst of the 
gay life of a court she observed strictly the 
rules of her order. Saturday and Sunday she 
fasted, and on the vigils of the Virgin never took 
more than bread and water. She rose in the 
middle of the night, winter and summer, to re- 
peat the customary prayers, and by five o’clock 
in the morning she was dressed and at prayers 
again, and six hours were given each day to 
prayers in the church, she always kneeling on 
the bare floor, like the poorest nun. Twice a 
week she made a most perfect confession, never 
concealing thought or feeling from her con- 
fessor. These were her private devotions, but 
how can I ever hope to show you what her 
pious teachings and counsels were t After din- 
ner two hours were given to reading the lives 
of the saints, which she explained by her wise 
comments, and enforced by her saintly exam- 
ple. Not a few of her maids, privileged to hear 
them, have greatly profited by them, as well as 
her most unhappy and sorely bereaved daugh- 
ter. After this reading, the time was given to 
prayer until supper, which was always a simple 
meal. Now, you were with my father’s last 


94 


Cecily. 


wife ; tell me this, was she such a noble saint 
as my queenly mother ? 

'' I do not think my royal mistress Catharine 
ever aspired to be a saint, or desired to be a 
nun,’' said Cecily simply. 

‘'But she was said to be pious. Let me ask 
whether her piety could be compared to my 
mother’s ! ” 

“ My noble mistress always taught us that 
true piety consisted in a faithful discharge of 
those duties to which we had been called by 
God. ” 

“ But did she spend hours upon her knees in 
church persisted Mary. 

“ I do not think the king would have been 
pleased if she had. He would have complained 
that she did not perform her duty as a wife and 
queen ; for he was often ailing, and needed care- 
ful tendance beyond that which his physicians 
could give, so that, with this duty to the king, 
and instructing us, her poor handmaidens, the 
queen’s time was much occupied.” 

“Too much occupied to pray, I doubt not,” 
said Mary, with something of a sneer. 

“ No, indeed ; my royal mistress could not 
have lived the pious, gentle life she did, in the 
midst of so many enemies, had she not been 
supported by much private prayer. But we 


A Morning s Discussion, 95 

were speaking of many hours of each day being 
spent in church, which Queen Catharine could 
not have done but by the neglect of some other 
duties.” 

My sainted mother neglected no duty to 
God, whatever men may say about her,” said 
Mary, dropping the curtain before the picture. 

‘‘ I have always heard that the first Queen 
Catharine was a most noble and pious lady, and 
yet my mistress was pious, too, although it may 
seem in a different fashion.” 

“ There was a great difference in their relig- 
ion,” remarked the princess. 

'‘Yes, the reformed doctrine concerns itself 
less with rites and ceremonies than with the 
due and loving performance of all the duties of 
life,” said Cecily. 

" A most worldly religion,” said Mary sul- 
lenly. 

" I cannot presume to teach your highn^s, 
who is so much wiser; but if you were to study 
this new faith I think you would see, as my 
dear mistress often taught us, that it lifts this 
poor life of ours up to God, instead of severing 
it from him as something common and un- 
clean.” 

" How can that be } ” sharply demanded the 
princess. " How can this Lutheran heresy lift 


96 


Cecily. 


our life nearer to God when it has impiously 
broken up the convents and monasteries, where 
holy persons spent their whole lives in his 
service ? ” 

“Yes, the monasteries have been broken up, 
and the poor have suffered through the greed 
of many who have them now in possession,’’ 
said Cecily with a heightened color ; “ but did 
not these religious houses encourage many to 
be idle, and many more to think that they could 
not serve God at all except by leaving their 
worldly calling ? My mother died when I was 
quite a little girl, and the only thing I remember 
about her was her praying with me once that I 
might live to serve God, and I thought I must 
certainly be a nun ; and when my father said I 
must stay and be his little house-keeper, as many 
of the nuns were to leave their convents and 
enter the world again, I was in sore trouble, for 
I thought 1 could never do as *my mother 
wished— live to God’s service.” 

“And do you think that the religious life — 
the life of a nun— is not more pleasing to God 
than any other said the princess. 

“ I may not presume to teach your highness, 
but I have learned that even had there been no 
idleness and luxury and evil living in the con- 
vents, still the life of a poor secular woman — a 


A Mornings Discussion, 97 

wife caring for her husband and children, or a 
daughter dwelling with her father — may be as 
holy, and more in accordance with God’s will, 
than that of a nun, though she be accounted a 
saint.” 

The princess looked at Cecily in silent as- 
tonishment for a minute or two, but at last she 
uttered, Could presumption go further } Is 
it possible that you can think that my step- 
mother could be compared to my mother in her 
pious devotion 1 She was a good woman, I 
grant, although a heretic, but to compare her 
devotion to the king to my mother s devotion to 
God is no less than blasphemy. My poor mis- 
guided child, you have been sadly led astray by 
these heretical teachings, but I am sure you sin- 
cerely desire to follow your pious mothers 
counsel and prayers.” 

'' I have always desired and endeavored to do 
so,” said Cecily quietly. 

“ I do not doubt it, my child ; but we live in 
evil times, and you have fallen among dangerous 
persons who have sadly perverted your pure, 
simple mind. It was inevitable that your father 
should call himself by this new and accursed 
name of Protestant, but that you should learn 
the detestable doctrine is more than was neces- 
sary for his holding the estate.” 


98 


Cecily. 


Cecily’s cheeks flushed indignantly. '' I did 
not learn, and I do not profess, these new 
doctrines merely to please my father,” she 
said. 

“ My child, I think I understand these mat- 
ters better than you do,” said the princess with 
dignity ; and Mary, who could look every inch 
a queen in spite of her short stature and rather 
ill-tempered face, made Cecily feel that she had 
been guilty of a breach of propriety in thus 
showing temper in the discussion. Mary’s robe 
of purple velvet swept the floor with some dis- 
dain, as she moved to the other side of the 
room ; but as she had not yet dismissed Cecily, 
she did not presume to move, although she 
wished herself out in the garden, or anywhere 
rather than where she was. 

At length the princess came back to her seat, 
bringing an exquisitely illuminated little book 
in her hand. 

“ My dear child, you are greatly to be pitied,” 
she said, and I feel the most sincere compas- 
sion for you, and for many who, like you, have 
been led astray from the true fold by the false 
shepherds who have been preying upon the 
tender lambs of the flock.” 

But I have heard my father say that it was 
well known that the priests and monks cared 


A Morning s Discussion. 99 

nothing for the flock except the wool they 
might shear from them,” said Cecily boldly. 

“ Of course, your mind has been filled with 
evil thoughts against the priests and monks, 
but I want you to read this little book, and follow 
its precepts and teachings. Will you promise 
me this ^ ” 

Cecily hesitated for a minute or two. “ I will 
read it,” she said at last, but I cannot promise 
to follow its precepts unless they accord with 
the teaching of God’s holy word.” 

‘‘ What do you mean asked the princess in 
some surprise. 

God’s word must be our rule of life, and I can- 
not promise to follow any precepts until I know 
whether they accord with the Scriptures.” 

‘‘And how can you know that?” asked Mary, 
in well-feigned surprise. 

“ I can read ; and now, by the king’s gracious 
command, all who can do this may judge for 
themselves whether a doctrine be of God or of 
men ; for in all churches there is a Bible chained 
to the desk, wherein men are invited to read for 
themselves.’* 

“Yes, and the most evil and pestilent prac- 
tice it is,” broke out the princess. “ Men are 
taught that they — they, the ignorant, unlearned 
common folk — can understand these mysteries 


100 


Cecily. 


for themselves, and they actually dare to use 
their worldly sense and reason to interpret the 
word of God.’' 

“And should it not be so used } ” Cecily vent- 
ured to ask. 

“ No, indeed ; it is the most daring presump- 
tion, and leads to all sorts of mischievous mis- 
takes. It is this reading the Scriptures in the 
common tongue of the people, and bidding them 
read it for themselves, that has led so many to 
embrace this heresy. Their carnal wisdom is 
flattered, and they think they can judge what 
is right and wrong instead of following the judg- 
ment of the Church, which alone has the right to 
decide the meaning of Scripture.” 

“But — but since the Scriptures have been 
translated into English should we not read them 
for our instruction and enlightenment ? ” asked 
Cecily, hardly knowing what to say, and not 
wishing to offend the lady further. 

“ No, we ought to look upon the translating 
these Scriptures into English as the work of the 
devil, as in truth it was. Have you never read 
these words, Cecily, ‘ Resist the devil ? ’ ” 

“ Yes, indeed, but I think — ” 

“ My child, you have no right to judge and 
put your thoughts into the meaning of Script- 
ure, ” interrupted the princess. “You ought 


A Morning s Discussion. loi 

to fly from the temptation to use your own car- 
nal wisdom in such holy mysteries, and submit 
yourself to the teaching of the Church.” 

‘‘But if the teaching of Scripture and the 
practice of the Church are opposed to each 
other, are we still to follow the Church } ” asked 
Cecily. 

“ Certainly we are, because it is not given to 
us to judge what is the meaning of Scripture ; 
and even if it should be that the Church is in er- 
ror in some matter — not that I say it is, because 
such a thing is impossible— but even if it were 
possible, we are still bound to obey, and shall 
be held blameless, the Church alone being held 
responsible for all matters concerning our souls, 
if we will only commit them to her tender care. 
Now, my child, I hope you will read this little 
book,” concluded the princess. 

Cecily took the book rather doubtfully. “ I 
will read it,” she said, “ and remember all that 
your highness has said, but I cannot now prom- 
ise to follow all it may teach.” 

“ I do not despair of convincing you, Ceci- 
ly, although you are somewhat obstinate, like 
most heretics,” said the princess rising. “ I 
will see you again after you have read this, and 
I doubt not you will be in a different frame of 
mind. Let me see ; you do not go to Edendab 


T02 


Cecily. 


until next week ; so that there will be plenty of 
time to read the book before you go. When 
you have read it, bring it to me here about the 
same hour, and we shall have time to discuss it 
without interruption.” 

Mary dismissed her young guest very kindly, 
in spite of the differences that had occurred 
during the discussion, but Cecily felt far from 
gratified at the distinguished favor that had 
been accorded her, and greatly dreaded a second 
interview with her bigoted hostess. She almost 
wished that she might lose the book to escape 
leading it, and could not rest until she had 
gone to her old nurse, who always accompanied 
her in all her visits, and told her all that had 
passed during her interview with the princess. 

Dame Gillian, who was a shrewd, far-seeing 
old woman, shook her head rather ominously. 
“ Be cautious, be cautious, my darling ; do not 
you offend her highness, as my Lady Jane Grey 
has done in that matter of bowing to the host.” 

‘‘ If I had only known that I was likely to be 
drawn into such a discussion I might have had 
time to think what I ought to say, or, rather, 
how I ought to speak of these things to her 
highness, for I could not really say any thing 
very different after all. I could not say what I 
do not believe, Gillian ” 


A Mornings Discussion, 103 

No, I suppose not, for you would not be 
your mother’s child if you did ; but still I wish 
we were safe at home, for these be changeful 
times, and fashions alter in religion as in every 
thing else, and it don’t do to speak too plainly, 
especially to one like my Lady Mary.” 

Her nurse’s words were not likely to make 
Cecily less anxious, more especially when she 
began to read the book and found that it was 
intended to set up the teaching and commands 
of men as above the word of God ; and she hesi- 
tated to take it back to the princess, as she 
had been invited— dreading the discussion that* 
would follow. Most thankful, therefore, did she 
feel when, three days before the time arranged 
for her to go home, a messenger arrived from 
her father, begging her to return with him at 
once, as he was unwell and needed her at home. 


104 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

SIR PETER TEMPLE. 

ECILY felt somewhat like a prisoner es- 



caped from his jailer, when she found her- 
self fairly on the road toward home without 
having had a second discussion with the prin- 
cess. She did not tell her father any thing of 
what had passed, for almost the first words he 
• uttered were, I hope you have kept on good 
terms with the Lady Mary.” 

O yes, we are good friends,” answered Ce- 
cily; ‘'but why are you so anxious about it, my 
father ” 

“Who said I was anxious.^” exclaimed the 
irritable baronet, who, being confined to his own 
room by his ailments, was the more peevish and 
apt to take offense. “Now, tell me all that 
has happened at Newhall since you have been 
there. I am shut up in this room, and not one 
of these knaves of servants has come near me.” 

Cecily smiled as she threw off her hood, and 
seated herself on a low stool beside her father’s 
couch. “ There have been no fresh rushes laid 
down here,” she said, kicking aside a little heap 


Sir Peter Temple. 105 

of fish-bones that smelt more strong than was 
pleasant. Bones and other scraps of refuse 
were scattered all over the room, but the dogs 
had picked them pretty clean, and a few fresh 
rushes would effectually hide them. 

Anxious to make her father as comfortable as 
possible, Cecily ordered some rushes and sweet 
herbs to be brought at once, and a thick layer 
to be laid over the room. But when Cecily 
told them not to cover the offensive smelling 
fish-bones, but to pick them up and throw them 
in the yard, her servants wondered what would 
happen next — what other new-fangled notions 
she had brought from London. Sir Peter, too, 
seemed annoyed at the innovation, and ex- 
claimed, ‘‘ I don’t like new fashions, Cecily ; if 
you want fresh rushes, have them ; but a few 
bones underneath can’t do any harm, and it 
pleases the dogs to scratch them up and pick 
them over.” 

‘‘ Yes, I know it does, but I have left the dry 
ones for them ; but these are offensive, and my 
Lady Cecil is of opinion that we should not 
have the plague so often if the bones and dirt 
were removed whenever fresh rushes were laid 
upon the floors.” 

Ah, my Lady Cecil has grown wiser than 
her mother and father, I should think,” sa^d Sir 


io6 


Cecily. 


Peter, with some asperity. Good bones bring 
the plague, too ! What say the bishops to such 
doctrine as this ? What think they of Lady 
Cecil ? Why, ’tis little short of blasphemy, 
when they teach us the judgment of God on 
the wickedness of the times. Bones bring the 
plague ! I wonder what next,’* reiterated the 
baronet. 

Cecily did not venture to continue the discus- 
sion any further, for she knew it would be use- 
less ; but she resolved to follow her own will, or, 
rather, her friend’s plan, and have all the old 
lushes and dirt removed from her own room, in- 
stead of having them merely covered with a 
fresh layer. The servants were indignant when 
they received this command from the young 
lady. Such a waste of good rushes was never 
heard of. Why, it would take almost a cart- 
load to have a good thick layer put down again. 
They grumbled, and they hoped to hear it 
would be impossible to have so many as would 
be necessary to do this. But Hodge Watkins, 
who heard who it was that wanted the rushes, 
said at once that he would get them ; for it was 
to Mistress Cecily that he owed it he was now 
her father’s hired servant, and not his slave ; 
and it was to her his mother had to be thankful 
for the little cottage Sir Peter’s bailiff had found 


10 / 


Sir Peter Tcfnple. 

for her accommodation. These arrangements 
had been made by Cecily without her father’s 
knowledge, for he had left her sole mistress 
when he went to France ; and so she had writ- 
ten these directions to her steward, specially 
mentioning that Hodge Watkins should be 
helped and protected if ever he returned from 
his foolish expedition into Norfolk. 

Poor Hodge had found that the new refor- 
mation set on foot by Kett was worse than fool- 
ish, and at the first appearance of the king’s 
troopers he had laid down his arms, for he had 
already grown tired of robbing honest farmers 
and burning down the houses of gentlemen for 
mere sport. So Hodge had returned, looking 
rather shame-faced, and only venturing to show 
himself to Squire Audley at first ; but the 
squire had good news for him, for Cecily’s letter 
had arrived, bidding her steward find a cottage 
for Hodge and his mother. In his gratitude he 
had gone back there to receive whatever pun- 
ishment his master had decreed ; but he heard 
that the lady who had shown such regard for 
his mother had also ordered that work should 
be found for him, and wages paid for it, too ; and 
ever since that time he had longed for an op- 
portunity of showing his gratitude to his young 
mistress. 


Cecily. 


108 

Rushes were not very plentiful just now, but 
he resolved that Cecily should have a good sup- 
ply for her room, if he went begging through 
half the county. Of course Farmer Audley 
was the first to whom he applied. ‘‘ Mistress 
Cecily has come home and needs fresh rushes 
for the chambers ; can you give me a few, sir ? 
asked Hodge. 

“ So .the young lady has come home at last, 
has she ? ” said the squire ; “ she has been stay- 
ing at Newhall with some other cou’-t ladies, I 
hear.” 

The squire loved a gossip, and hoped to hear 
some London news from Hodge, but the man 
was too impatient about the rushes to tell any 
thing just now. Dame Audley, who was stand- 
ing in the porch, was more impatient than her 
husband. ‘‘ Hodge, you tell Mistress Cecily 
not to forget her old friends at the manor- 
house. Tell her, too, that Kate is here, and 
Mildred is coming to-morrow to bring her chil- 
dren to see their aunt and cousins.” 

Hodge went back with his rushes and the in- 
vitation, delivering the latter to Dame Gillian, 
who promised to tell her young lady as soon as 
she left her father's chamber, for as yet Sir 
Peter would not allow her to leave him ; and 
Dame Gillian sighed as she thought of the life 


109 


Sir Peter Temple. 

poor Cecily would lead while her father con- 
tinued so ailing, for the old woman feared that 
this would be no slight attack, but might last 
for months, or even years. Perhaps there was a 
little selfishness in Dame Gillian’s sigh, for she 
knew that it would be very little she should see 
of her young lady now ; and the maids, too, 
would have cause to be sorry, for Gillian, unable 
to read, and so to pass the time away, would look 
closer after the maids than they thought either 
needful or pleasant. 

Cecily’s face brightened when she received 
Dame Audley’s message. '' I must go down and 
see them to-morrow. I am longing to see poor 
Mildred Scrope again. Will you see that they 
hang the tapestry in my room she added, as 
her father’s voice was heard calling her. 

What did you want to run away for just as 
I was telling you how my Lord Warwick was 
made Duke of Northumberland.^” he asked 
petulantly when Cecily went back. 

‘‘ I did but speak to Gillian about the tapestry 
to be hung in my room,” said Cecily, as she 
took her seat to listen to the well-known story 
of the duke’s perfidy and ambition. She had 
heard the same tale again and again, for he had 
been created Duke of Northumberland before 
his rival was beheaded, although she and the 


no 


Cecily. 


Lady Jane Grey, and a few others who were 
strongly attached to the Seymours, refused to 
speak of him by his new title. 

“ Well, yes, I suppose you did know that ; 
but have you heard that your friend, Lady Jane, 
is to break her engagement with the Earl of 
Hereford ? ” 

I don’t believe it,” impulsively spoke Cecily. 
** Of course I know that many are greatly dis- 
appointed at this talk about the king marrying 
the French princess, for her mother. Queen 
Catharine Medicis, is no friend to the reformed 
opinions in France, and ’tis feared King Edward 
may show them less favor by and by with a 
Catholic wife.” 

‘‘ Ah, depend upon it, the old faith will come 
in fashion again,” said Sir Peter ; but you know 
this, my wench, that I hold these lands in pay- 
ment of a just debt. I served in the king s wars 
for years — the late king’s, I mean — and he had 
naught to pay me with but these convent lands. 
Some have had as good for no service at all, and 
a certain scullion had broad acres and goodly 
fields for making the king a plum pudding. But 
mine was for true and loyal service, and when 
men began to prate of the king’s 'gift’ I had 
it set down in the parchment conveying it to 
me that it was for service rendered, and in dis- 


Sir Peter Temple, ill 

charge of the debt the king owed me ; so that 
whatever be the changes of religion I shall hold 
to the land.” 

‘‘But I hope there will be no change,” said 
Cecily faintly. 

“ So do I, for it^s convenient to call myself a 
Protestant— stops these priests' mouths, who 
would forever be teasing me to restore this 
property I hold to the use of the Church. But 
never fear, Cecily ; whatever changes there may 
be, they wont attempt to touch the Church 
lands, for so many have them in possession 
now, and every body will hold on to them, al- 
though they will let these new-fangled notions 
sink if they will, and all become good Catholics 
again.” 

Cecily shivered. “ Do you really think if there 
came to be another change in religion people 
would give up these new doctrines she asked. 

Sir Peter stared at the question. “ Men are 
not fools,” he said ; “ Religion is all very well 
in its way, although I never could see the need 
there was to make such a fuss about it as some 
folks do. But, then, I am an old soldier, not a 
priest or a bishop, and so I have nothing to do 
with religion.” 

“ O father, do you not know that God has 
made every man and calls every man to be his 


112 


Cecily. 


child, to embrace eternal life, which he has 
given in his Son, the Lord Jesus Christ?” said 
Cecily, in a low earnest tone. It was not often 
that she dared to speak to her father upon this 
theme of religion at all, but she had often prayed 
that she might be able to speak a word to him 
upon his own personal need of salvation. Even 
now that the opportunity had come it seemed 
that she had not the courage to embrace it as 
she ought to have done. 

The baronet waited for a minute, and then 
said, ‘‘ Do you mean that every man has got to 
look after this affair for himself?” 

“Yes, father, indeed; this is the only right 
way, for God will not have any to come between 
our souls and him.” 

“ Do you mean to say, we have got all the 
business to do ourselves — this taking eternal 
life, whatever that may mean ? ” 

“ Yes, father ; no priest or saint can do it for 
us,” said Cecily with rising courage. “The 
sins we have committed must be — ” 

“ Then I tell you this, wench ; if that is what 
the new doctrines teach, they’ll soon go down. 
It is preposterous to think that men will have 
such a religion as this. I’ve heard people grum- 
ble about having to pray and pay too, and I don’t 
wonder at it. No, no ; this wont suit men at all. 


Sir Peter Temple, 1 1 3 

The old way was the best, after all, and will 
come in fashion again too, I doubt not/’ 

I hope not,” said Cecily fervently. 

“ Hope not ! Why, who can be taken up 
with such an unreasonable religion as this ? 
Look at me, now. I’ve been in all the king’s 
wars, and fought his battles ; what do I know 
about this soul-saving business } That’s a 
priest’s work, and the old religion was this : I 
could send for a priest just before I died, and 
make a bargain with him as to how much I 
must give the Church for him to shrive me 
and make things straight with the Virgin and 
saints, so that I should get let into heaven at 
last.” 

“ O, my father, how can you think that is how 
God desires to save us } ” said Cecily. 

'' Well, it is the most sensible way. What do 
I know about God or my soul } If they were 
like pikes, or cross-bows, or any thing I’ve been 
used to in the world, I could understand it — but 
talk to a man like me about his soul, and I’m all 
in a maze. No, no ; give me the old religion, for 
that’ll suit me best. I can pay a priest to do 
the business for me, and that’ll save all the 
troubles and blunders I should make over it. 
What ! crying, wench } — art afraid I shall give up 
all the land to the Church again, and leave you 


Cecily. 


114 

without a silver groat ? No, no ; leav’^e thy old 
father alone ; he is a match for any priest ; 
he’ll make a good bargain, and save his soul, 
too ? " 

“ But indeed no man can save his soul in the 
way you think, my father, and the priests did 
but deceive men for the sake of gain when they 
taught them that this was the way of salvation,” 
said Cecily, scarcely restraining her sobs as she 
spoke. 

Her father looked at her in some surprise. 
“You and my Lady Cecil have both set up 
as knowing more than the old priests,” he said 
sharply. 

“ We know they deceived the people, teaching 
the inventions of men instead of the word of 
God,” said Cecily boldly. 

“ Ah, I see you want to keep the priests away 
from me. Well, well, I don’t blame you, for there 
is no gainsaying it — many a wench like you has 
been robbed by these same priests of all she 
ought to possess, and was glad to live as a hum- 
ble nun in the house she ought to have ruled 
as a mistress ; but I tell you, wench, your father 
will make a better bargain than that, or else let 
the business alone.” 

“ O, father, father ! do you think that if giving 
up all we possess would save you I should grudge 


Sir Peter Temple, iiS 

it ? O, father, you ought to know your Cecily 
better. Believe me, I would gladly give up all 
these acres, which I know you have earned 
from the king s grace, and go back to live in the 
little cottage where I was born, if I could see 
you caring for the things of God — trying to 
serve and love him, not for the sake of gaining 
heaven, but because of the great love he has 
manifested to us in the gift of his dear Son, the 
Lord Jesus Christ.'’ 

Sir Peter Temple was certainly touched by 
his daughter's earnestness, and he knew her 
self-forgetting love too well to doubt its sincer- 
ity. ‘‘ You are a strange wench, Cecily." He 
said the words with a touch of pride and tender- 
ness in the tone that encouraged his daughter 
to venture a little further. 

I know you love me, my father, and you 
have always been kind and tender toward me, 
and sought to promote my happiness before all 
things.” 

Sir Peter smiled and stroked the fair forehead. 
‘‘ I may have wished you was a boy sometimes, 
Cecily, for the sake of the land and the old 
name, but I’ve loved you all the same — God 
knows I’ve loved you, wench." 

‘‘Yes, my father, he does; and he put this 
love into your heart that you might under- 


Ii6 


Cecily. 


stand something of the love he bears toward 
you/’ 

'' What — what are you saying, Cecily ? Surely 
you have gone mad, or are dreaming. Wake 
up, wake up ! old Peter Temple is the old soldier 
still ; he is no monk or priest ; what are you 
saying about God caring for such as he.^” 

My father, God does care for you, and 
loves you,” said Cecily solemnly; he has been 
watching over you, saving you from death, that 
you may learn to love him before this life is 
over.” 

“ What ! do you mean to say that the narrow 
escapes I have had in the battle-field and other 
places was God saving my life — because he 
cared for me ? ” 

“Yes, because he loved you and desired 
you to believe in this love— even the love 
that not only saved you from death, but gave 
his Son to die that you might be saved through 
him.” 

Cecily forgot her timidity now in the joy she 
felt at seeing her father willing to listen to her, 
and she went on to speak of the one perfect 
sacrifice for sin made by Jesus Christ, so that 
the Roman sacrifice of the mass was not only 
needless, but a hiding of the great truth of the 
Gospel. 


Sir Peter Temple. 117 

Sir Peter listened with the greatest attention, 
and at last exclaimed, Cecily, I must hear 
more about this. I must find out for myself 
whether you are speaking the very truth, or 
only a fable invented by our clever Archbishop 
Cranmer.*' 

8 


Ii8 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER IX. 

ANTICIPATIONS OF SORROW. 

ECILY contrived to leave her father for an 



hour the next day, to go and see her 
friends, the Audleys. She was most anxious 
to see Mildred, for she did not know whether 
Dame Audley had heard of their impromptu 
visit to the Scropes, and her curiosity would be 
so great to hear what the princess had said and 
done that, unless she was to be told all that had 
happened, it was best that she should not hear 
of it at all. 

Dame Kate Goodman, with her two bonnie 
boys, looked so happy and content now that it 
was easy to see she had forgotten all the old 
scruples about the legality of her marriage ; but 
Cecily fancied that a change had come over 
Mildred since she had seen her a short time 
before. There was a troubled, anxious look, 
which was the more apparent to Cecily from the 
evident efforts she made to conceal it. Dame 
Audley had noticed it, too, for she said to Cecily, 
“ Mildred is not well — she concerns herself too 
much with Martin's parish troubles, I know." 


Anticipations of Sorrow, 1 19 

No, no, it is not that, mother, but — but Mar- 
tin has some news for you,'' she said hastily ; 
“ he has been asked to take charge of a London 
parish." 

But he wont do it ; surely he wont think 
of taking you and the children to London, 
where you would die of the plague or sweating 
sickness in less than a year." 

Mildred smiled at her mother's exaggerated 
fears. I dare say we shall be quite well in 
London," she said, and there are reasons why 
Martin thinks he ought to go. Bishop Ridley, 
who has made him the offer of this living, and 
very much wishes him to accept it, says that 
they greatly need devout, earnest men in Lon- 
don, who are able and willing to teach the 
people the difference between the old faith and 
the new ; for in many parishes the Book of 
Common Prayer has been substituted for the 
mass book, but the people know little beyond 
this of the great difference between the old way 
of thinking and the reformed doctrine ; and it 
is difficult to get men to do this, for many of 
the priests who have conformed have done so 
only in outward seeming, and mumble out the 
prayers so that their English is no more under- 
stood than the Latin was." 

Well, that is all very well for my lord the 


120 


Cecily. 


bishop to say, but he ought to know that when 
a priest marries a wife he, like another man, 
must think of her happiness somewhat,’' said 
Dame Audley. 

“ But, mother, you would not have Martin 
turn coward, or refuse to accept a call to greater 
usefulness because of me and the children ? ” 
said Mildred. 

“ Well, I don’t know. I’m sure a man ought 
to take care of his wife,” said her mother. 

‘‘Well, I am sure Martin has taken good 
care of me, as you well know, mother. But the 
question seems to be this — and I had thought 
of it before I married — Martin’s first duty is to 
God, and afterward to me ; and if it is impos- 
sible for a priest to reconcile the two, then the 
old arguments are correct, and priests ought 
not to marry.” 

“ They certainly ought to be careful who 
they marry,” remarked Cecily, who dreaded 
to say too much for fear of offending Dame 
Audley. 

When she rose to leave, Mildred said she 
would walk with her ; and as soon as they were 
by themselves she said, “ Mistress Temple, have 
you told my mother of the Princess Mary com- 
ing to our house ? ” 

“ No, indeed ; I did but return from Newhall 


A nticipatiotis of Sorrow, 1 2 1 

the day before yesterday, and have not seen 
Dame Audley until now,’’ 

Then do not tell her — keep it a secret, will 
you, Cecily ? for it will trouble her more than 
our leaving Essex.” 

But why are you leaving ? ” asked Cecily. 

I think it is a pity you are going to London ; 
for we heard you were so much beloved, had 
done so much good in the parish, and now it may 
be it will all be undone. I do not think it is 
fair to take all the good men from the country. 
Men have souls to save here as well as in the 
great city.” 

You heard we had been useful V said Mil- 
dred with a faint smile. 

Yes, indeed, the farmer could talk of noth- 
ing but your goodness, and how much better it 
was for the parish for the priest to be a married 
man.” 

‘‘Did the Princess Mary hear this, too.?” 
asked Mildred anxiously. 

“Yes, and I was very glad she did.” 

“ But did she let the farmer know any thing 
of what she thought of the matter .? ” interrupted 
Mildred. 

“Yes, and very much astonished the good 
man looked ; but — ” 

“ Then, Cecily, I can understand how our 


122 


Cecily. 


troubles have arisen. Since the night you and 
the Princess Mary came we have had nothing 
but trouble and opposition from people who 
used to be our best friends in the parish ; and 
since the news came that the young king could 
not live long things have been worse, until one 
day last week the squire told Martin he had 
better give up the living, or send me away, as 
they did not care about having a married priest 
and poor Mildred burst into tears as she spoke. 

** Hush, hush, dear ; I feel inclined to laugh at 
such a foolish speech. Put you away, indeed — 
you, his lawfully married wife ! Why, Martin 
could not do it even if he wished ; and as for 
giving up the living — 

‘‘ That must be done,” said Mildred, hastily 
drying her eyes. “ We can do no good now, for 
all the old prejudices of the people are aroused, 
and there are always plenty of wandering 
monks coming and going to keep up this oppo- 
sition against us. No, Cecily, we must go to 
London, where we have heard that many priests 
are now married.” 

*'Yes, priests and bishops, too. The arch- 
bishop himself is a married man, you know, 
Mildred, so that it does seem very foolish of 
these people.” 

‘‘ I am glad you have not been won over to 


Anticipations of Sorrow, 123 

the old superstition again, Cecily. We heard 
that the Princess Mary was determined to bring 
you back.” 

Who could have told you that ? ” exclaimed 
Cecily, flushing as she thought of the discus- 
sion they had had. 

‘‘It came from my Lady Wharton, I believe,” 
said Mildred: and then she added, “You must 
be careful not to offend that lady.” 

“ I hate her,” exclaimed Cecily impulsively. 
“She has set the princess against her sweet 
young cousin, the Lady Jane Grey, by her tale- 
bearing of what the Lady Jane said in the chapel 
concerning the host.” 

“Yes, I have heard that story,” said Mildred. 

“You have! Who can be the tale-bearer.? 
I thought it was only known to the princess 
and me. Lady Jane told me of it, and we soon 
had good reason for knowing that the princess 
had been told, too, for she scarce spoke to Lady 
Jane afterward.” 

“Yes, that is known also; and ’tis whispered 
that if she should ever come to the throne she 
will bring back the old religion at once,” said 
Mildred with a sigh. What mercy would he 
shown to her, and hundreds like her who had 
dared to marry priests, she knew only too well, 
and she grew almost sick at the thought. 


124 


Cecily. 


“ But, Mildred, is it right to fret like this over 
troubles that may never come } ” asked her 
friend, when she had listened to the story of the 
anxious fears that constantly oppressed her 
now. 

“ How can I help being fearful and anxious 
when I think of my dear children, and what a 
fate may be in store for them.^-’ sobbed Mil- 
dred. 

“ O, Mildred, does not your love for your little 
ones teach you something of the tender love 
God has for you ? Are you not his child ? and 
do you think he cares nothing for this, or will 
not help you, if ever the time comes that you 
will need his help ? Do try and pray that you 
may be able to trust him for the future as im- 
plicitly as your little ones trust to you.*' 

‘‘ O Cecily, I am afraid I am very faithless, 
but you do not know what it is to be a mother.*’ 
No, I do not ; but let me ask if you would 
not be grieved if one of your children began fret- 
ting and complaining about this same trouble ? 
Would you not feel hurt that the little one did 
not trust you to take care of her, and shield her 
from harm ? And yet her grief would be more 
reasonable than ours ; for we know that God is 
both willing and able to give us all that we need, 
either to escape or to endure the trial.** Then 


Anticipations of Sorrow. 


125 


Cecily burst into tears, scarcely less sorrowful 
than Mildred's, as she said, I — I am trying 
to learn this myself, but O, I do feel it must be 
harder for you to trust for your little children 
than for me to trust for my friends ! 

It was Mildred's turn to comfort now, and, 
drying her eyes, she whispered, I will think of 
what you say, Cecily ; I ought not to be so faith- 
less and fretful, for Martin is often telling me 
that God does not give the grace needed until 
the trial comes ; but when it comes the grace is 
sure to come with it.*' 

‘‘Yes, I know; I heard the same thing in a 
sermon preached at Paul's Cross," said Cecily, 
choking back her tears ; “ and yet it seems as 
though we must borrow the trouble of to-morrow 
to burden to-day with. Since I have been at 
Newhall I have been full of anxious forebodings 
about what would happen to this one and that 
one among my dearest friends — friends whom I 
love as sisters— if the king should die and the 
Princess Mary be proclaimed queen." 

“ And she would be," said Mildred quickly. 

“ I know that most people think the same ; 
and yet — and yet it seems too dreadful ! . I can- 
not bear to think of it ! — I will not believe that 
God means to overturn our glorious Reforma- 
tion, and hand us over, bound hand and foot, to 


126 


Cecily. 


Rome.” Cecily spoke with scarcely less pas- 
sion than Mildred had done. To Mildred the 
Reformation meant the welfare of her husband 
and children ; to Cecily it was the well-being of 
many dear friends, as well as the larger desire 
for the enlightenment and blessing of the whole 
country ; but both felt deeply, and were alike 
struggling against that “ thought for the mor- 
row ” which would deprive them of present 
peace and unfit them to meet future trials 
should they come. 

They had almost reached the end of the fields 
through which their walk lay, and Cecily could 
see the priory gates when she turned to say 
good-bye to Mildred. Just then a man mounted 
on a jaded, weary looking horse passed along 
the road, and Cecily said, “ He looks like a 
messenger from London ; his clothes are dusty 
and travel-stained, as though he had ridden 
many miles to-day.” 

In a moment Mildred grew as white as the 
handkerchief she had thrown over her head. 
“ O Cecily, it may be a messenger sent privately 
to your father telling him of the king's death. 
If it should be, will you send and let me know 
at once. Give us warning, and I think I could 
persuade Martin to take us out of the country, 
or hide us somewhere for a time.” 


Anticipations of Sorrow, 127 

“ Hush, hush, Mildred ; you are too fearful. 
But I promise you this, now and for any future 
time : should it ever come to pass that warning 
is needful, and I can give it, believe me, I will 
spare no pains to help or protect you.” 

“ O thank you, thank you a thousand times,” 
said Mildred, and once more the friends em- 
braced as sisters, and then Cecily went on to- 
ward home, while Mildred stood waiting to see 
whether the dusty traveler stopped at the priory 
gates. 

When she saw him dismount from his horse, 
and blow the great horn that hung beside the 
postern, her heart almost stood still with affright, 
and she walked slowly homeward, almost ex- 
pecting to hear one of the servants or Cecily 
herself running after her to bring the terrible 
news that the king was dead. But the day 
passed on, no warning came, and Mildred grew 
more calm, and even succeeded in putting on 
an air of cheerfulness in the presence of her 
mother and sister ; for why should she burden 
them with her anxious fears } Then in the 
evening Martin came, for the squire wished to 
have all his children about him once more, and 
in the cheerful household talk Mildred forgot 
her fears for a time. 

Meanwhile Cecily had reached home through 


128 


Cecily. 


a little private door before the messenger had 
sounded the horn at the gate, and so was able 
to announce his coming to her father. 

‘‘A messenger from London ? Then North- 
umberland is making another move — unless the 
king is dead,*' said Sir Peter. 

May I stay and know what is the news he 
brings ? ** asked Cecily, with paling cheeks. 

‘‘Yes, child, you may hear whether the mat- 
ter concerns you or not. It may be some mes- 
sage from the council, or — but here come the 
letters,** he exclaimed, as a servant appeared, 
bearing a bulky packet tied with a ribbon, and 
bearing Sir William Cecil's seal. 

The squire broke the seal, and found that the 
packet contained several letters to himself and 
Cecily. Letters were not so common in those 
days that two could be received without sundry 
exclamations of wondering surprise; and just 
now, Cecily's mind being full of vague fears, she 
broke the seal of Lady Cecil's with trembling 
fingers, half fearing to read the contents. But 
after the usual compliments and questions and 
assurance about health, came various little items 
of news concerning their mutual friends, among 
them a confirmation of the news brought from 
London by her father, that the Lady Jane 
Grey's engagement with the son of the late pro-- 


Anticipations of Sorrow, 129 

tector had been broken off, and it was believed 
through the Duke of Northumberland, who was 
all powerful with the king now. 

Cecily threw her letter down in impatient 
disgust as she read this. I would I were the 
Lady Jane !” she said aloud. 

Odds bodkins ! what next } what ails you, 
Cecily } is there ill news in your letter 1 

‘‘Yes, ill enough; my Lord of Northumber- 
land has some designs upon the Lady Jane 
Grey, I fear ; for Mildred Cecil tells me that 
her betrothment to the Earl of Hereford is at 
an end, and it is the town talk that my Lord 
Northumberland has had the doing of it.'* 

“ Ah, like enough, like enough ! I should not 
wonder if we heard next that she was betrothed 
to one of his own sons." 

“ But why should he wish this } " asked 
Cecily. “ I know there are few ladies to com- 
pare with the Lady Jane either for piety or 
learning, but I don’t believe the duke cares 
enough about these things to think of them as 
a fair inheritance for his son. No, no ; it is for 
something else my Lady Jane is chosen, if she 
be chosen, to be the wife of my Lord Guildford 
Dudley." 

“ Be careful, Cecily, what you say before the 
knaves and wenches, for servants will prate 


130 


Cecily. 


of things that concern them not, and it is by no 
means certain yet that my Lady Jane is to 
marry a Dudley. 

“ I will be careful,’' said Cecily ; but tell me 
now, my father, what you think the wily duke 
can mean by this — if he has done it ? Lady 
Jane is one of my dearest friends, and I should 
be sorely grieved if she fell into the duke’s 
power, for I hate him.” 

‘‘ Hush, hush, my wench ! you have soon for- 
gotten your caution. Don’t you make an enemy 
of the great duke ; for I am told in one of my 
letters it is better to offend the king and all the 
council than give offense to his grace of North- 
umberland.” 

“ But we are alone, my father ; surely I may 
speak to you without fear ; and I do feel angry 
— angry and fearful — for the Lady Jane, and I 
cannot conceive why the duke should interfere 
with her and Hereford.” 

“ Well, I have heard a whisper ; but I cannot 
think the duke, ambitious as he is, would at- 
tempt such a thing as that.” 

‘‘ What would he not attempt, after his mur- 
der of the Duke of Somerset ? ” said Cecily in- 
dignantly. ‘‘ Tell me what it is you fear, my 
father,” she whispered. 

“ I don’t fear it — I can’t believe it ; but it 


A nticipations of Sorrow. 1 3 1 

began to be whispered that the duke would per- 
suade the young king to have an act of Parlia- 
ment passed, or to make a will, as though he 
had no sisters living.” 

And if he did, what then } ” asked Cecily. 

‘‘ What then ! — why, the crown descends to 
Lady Jane Grey; and this is why it is the duke 
professes such a zeal for these new opinions. 
These hot Gospelers had a pet scheme for 
marrying Jane to King Edward ; but since this 
has fallen through, and the king’s health has 
failed, Northumberland thinks of making her 
queen, knowing that the Protestants will fa- 
vor it.” 

But Cecily shook her head doubtfully. I 
don’t know that. If it could be without being 
wrong ; but it can’t — it can’t be ; it would not 
be right.” 


132 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER X. 

A FRIENDLY OFFER. 

HE Scropes went to London, and Martin 



JL was so fortunate as to find a suitable 
house in Oldgate, near the conduit, and close to 
the city gate, so that they would have the ben- 
efit of the fresh country breezes from White- 
chapel. Their house overlooked the convent 
garden of the Minories, too, so that Mildred 
could almost have fancied she was in the 
country again, but for the stir and bustle that 
were constantly going on in the streets. This 
had almost bewildered her at first, but she soon 
grew accustomed to it, and after a time would 
not have changed her new surroundings for 
the old. 

Martin was always busy, for here in London 
people were more anxious to learn and judge of 
things for themselves, and less disposed to think 
that the priest had to do this for them. Here, 
also, where the Reformation had become most 
fashionable because it was the only road open 
to preferment, Mildred soon lost her fear of the 
old superstition becoming the religion of the 


133 


A Friendly Offer, 

land again, and here, too, there were hundreds 
of married priests ; so that her position alto- 
gether seemed more secure than it had done 
in the country. The months, as they passed 
on, brought greater peace to Mildred, and Cecily 
sometimes heard from Dame Audley, some- 
times through a letter to herself, of their happy, 
busy London life. These letters from Mildred 
came by the messenger who brought Sir Peters, 
and it puzzled Cecily not a little — this constant 
passing of letters between her father and one 
or two members of the council. 

In the spring of the year 1553 Sir Peter 
talked of going to London for a long stay. His 
health was better, and he began to grow tired 
of the quiet and monotony of a country life. 
He would take Cecily with him. She was 
busy one afternoon looking over her wardrobe 
with her nurse Gillian, deciding what dresses 
she would take with her, when her father’s 
voice was heard calling her, and Cecily, with an 
exclamation of impatience, went to see what he 
wanted. 

Here, Cecily, that knave of a messenger 
who came from London a fortnight ago brought 
this letter for you. I forgot all about it when 
you came home from the Audleys, but I don’t 
suppose the business it contains is of much im- 

9 


134 Cecily. 

portance — it will do as well now as then,*’ added 
the baronet. 

Cecily felt rather vexed at the detention of 
her letter, but she dared not say a word, and 
carried it up to her own room in silence. In a 
few minutes she came flying down stairs again, 
almost breathless with excitement. 

‘'Father! father! they have married Lady 
Jane to Lord Guilford Dudley ! Did you know 
it ? ” panted Cecily, fairly gasping for breath. 

“ Eh — they’ve done it, then ? ” said Sir Peter, 
forgetting that Cecily’s letter had been lying in 
his drawer for a fortnight. 

“ It must be by this time. O father, I am 
so sorry you forgot this letter, for Lady Jane 
has written herself to ask me to go to the wed- 
ding ; and now it is all over — over a week ago,” 
sighed poor Cecily, who could hardly restrain 
her tears. 

“ So she asked you to go and see her sacrifice 
herself, did she.^ Well, poor young thing, I’d 
do any thing to pleasure her, but I could not 
have let you do that, Cecily ; so it is as well 
you did not have your letter sooner,” said Sir 
Peter, turning to his papers again. 

Cecily looked keenly at her father. Had he 
kept this letter back purposely ? She was afraid 
to ask, and yet she felt bitterly disappointed. 


135 


A Friendly Offer, 

She could not go back to Gillian and the in- 
spection of her wardrobe now. She did not 
want to go to London at all, and, snatching 
her garden hat from its peg, she went out of 
doors. 

Hodge Watkins was working near, and doffed 
his cap to the young lady. Cecily nodded, and 
with her usual pleasant smile passed on, but 
turned back the next minute, to ask after his 
mother. 

“ She be about the same ; the pains keeps 
her fast to the chair still.*’ 

“ Then she is sure to be at home } ” said Ce- 
cily. “ Hodge, if my father asks for me, tell him 
I am gone to carry your mother herb-tea and 
other matters and Cecily went round to the 
kitchen to get these ‘‘ other matters,” which 
Hodge knew meant a savory meal for his mother 
from the baronet’s own table. 

He stood leaning on his own spade, looking 
after the young lady, and musing half aloud : 

She’d be a credit to any religion, and I’ll 
never believe the saints or Virgin would turn 
their back upon her. Why, she’s a saint her- 
self, heretic though she be, and I don’t care if 
Father Ambrose hear me say it. He may say 
what he likes agin these new opinions that’s 
come "ind upset the country ; but I’ll hear 


136 


Cecily. 


naught agin Mistress Cecily or any Protestant 
like her. Where should we have been — mother 
and I — if it hadn’t been for her ? and not a bit 
of difference has it made that we still hold to 
the old faith. She’ll take the old mass-book 
and read bits out of it to mother, and then turn 
them into English, because she says we ought 
to understand what the Latin means. Well, 
she may be right or she may be wrong about 
this, but anyhow mother says it does her good 
to hear her read the prayers from the mass book ; 
for she reads ’em as though she understood ’em 
and felt ’em, specially when she says the Pater- 
noster in English.” Hodge often talked to 
himself in this strain, and he had sometimes 
been overheard by his fellow-servants, who 
laughed at him for his devotion to the gentry,” 
who called themselves Protestants that they 
might swallow up all that had belonged to the 
Church. But Hodge cared little for these gibes. 
Cecily, who had heard something of it, too, felt 
that in Hodge she possessed a true and faithful 
servant, who would risk much in her behalf, and 
valued him accordingly. 

But this visit to the Widow Watkins was not 
for her benefit alone. She felt sure her father 
was hiding something from her — something that 
concerned her friend Lady Jane, and if this was 


A Friendly Offer. 


137 


of any public interest the messenger would cer- 
tainly have brought the news from London and 
reported it to the servants ; for Sir Peter’s serv- 
ants had grown to be important people lately, 
on the strength of the London news ” and 
court news ” which they extracted from the 
messenger when he brought the knight’s letters. 
This gossip was always carried to the Widow 
Watkins, and Cecily had little doubt but that 
she would hear what had been the latest talk 
among the Londoners when the messenger left 
town. 

But it seemed there was little of importance, 
for the widow had heard little or nothing be- 
yond what Cecily knew already; and yet she 
felt convinced that there was something on foot 
— something in which her father took a great 
interest, too ; and she was confirmed in these 
suppositions when, a day or two later, her fa- 
ther suddenl}^ announced that he had changed 
his mind about going to London — he did not 
mean to go now. A week later, and a horseman 
arrived, wearing the livery of the Princess Mary, 
and Cecily ran down stairs, expecting and yet 
fearing that he had brought another invitation 
for her to visit Newhall. But she heard, to her 
surprise, that the letter was for her father, and 
that the messenger was waiting for the answer. 


Cecily. 


138 

The next day Sir Peter Temple rode to Ken- 
ninghall, where the Princess Mary was staying, 
which set Cecily wondering more than ever, 
and she was vaguely uneasy at the messengers 
passing to and fro between Kenninghall and 
London. 

At length came the startling news that the 
king was worse, and could not live more than 
a few weeks or months, but that the king- 
dom should not again become papist. He had 
secured the Protestant succession to the throne 
by appointing the Lady Jane Dudley to succeed 
him. 

Cecily stood almost aghast as she heard the 
news. ‘‘ Queen Jane ! ” she murmured * my 
dear friend, only seventeen — only a girl-bride 
a month ago, expecting to be called Queen 
Jane ; ” and a thrill of triumphant joy crept 
over Cecily, only to be succeeded, however, by 
a sudden feeling of apprehension. Could the 
Reformation be helped by this — this wrong done 
to the king’s two sisters ? Cecily thought with 
a shudder of what might be expected to follow 
if the Princess Mary came to the throne ; and 
yet — and yet, was it right to do evil that good 
might come ? True, the evil might be legalized 
by act of Parliament and letters patent, but this 
would not mend the matter much ; and Cecily 


139 


A Frie7idly Offer, 

was very much afraid that the majority of the 
people would look upon gentle Queen Jane as 
a usurper. 

It seemed strange, too, that her father had 
said nothing to her about these impending 
changes. He had left home and had gone to 
Norwich as soon as the messenger brought 
these tidings from London, and Gillian told 
her he was working in the interest of the 
Princess Mary ; and so it seemed, for the next 
thing they heard was that the princess had left 
Kenninghall, and taken up her abode at Nor- 
wich Castle, where Sir Peter Temple, and sev- 
eral other knights from the neighborhood, were 
also staying. Poor Cecily knew not what to do ; 
whether to go to London and warn her friends, 
or to wait and see what coming events would 
bring. It was useless to alarm them needless- 
ly ; and perhaps, after all, the king had the right 
to appoint his successor^ and if so, who could 
fill the throne better than Lady Jane ? 

So Cecily mused as she paced up and down the 
garden, heedless of the servants’ curious looks 
and Hodge’s anxious glances. At last, after 
watching Cecily for a day or two, and noticing 
that she did not go near Squire Audley’s, Hodge 
made up his mind to speak to the young lady 
himself Le had been reeve to the monastery 


140 


Cecily. 


once, he argued — no mean post — and, therefore, 
in the right that this old honor gave him, he 
would venture to say. a word to the young lady. 

Hodge had spoken to her before, it is true, 
but it had always been in answer to some ques- 
tion or remark of hers ; but now she did not 
seem to notice any of the traps he laid for her 
to speak, and so it was with an awkward shy- 
ness that almost set Cecily laughing that 
Hodge placed himself in her way, and said, I 
was reeve once, Mistress Cecily — reeve to the 
old friar here, and I’ve been to London for 
him, too.” 

“ Have you ? ” said Cecily, smiling ; well, I 
hope you don’t want to go there again just 
now, for things are uncertain, and there is no 
telling what may happen if — if the king dies,” 
said Cecily, with a shiver. 

“ That’s just what I’ve been thinking, Mis- 
tress Cecily ; things be uncertain like, and 
you’ve many friends in London, I know, and — 
and the Princess Mary is sure to be made 
queen ; and—” 

‘'But this is by no means certain, Hodge,” 
interrupted Cecily. “ Have you not heard the 
news that King Edward’s cousin, the Lady 
Jane Grey, is to succeed him .?” 

“ Aye, aye. I’ve heard that story — it’s she that 


A Friendly Offer, 14 1 

married Northumberland’s son a week or two 
ago. It’s well known now why that marriage 
took place ; but I tell you, Mistress Cecily, that 
the people wont have a queen that’s got no 
more right to the throne than that girl. Essex 
and Suffolk and Norfolk — they’ll all rise for the 
Princess Mary and the old religion.” 

“ They rose before for Kett, the tanner, and 
the old religion, which they called the New 
Reformation. The rebellion will be put down. 
Essex is not England,” said Cecily, trying to 
hide how much Hodge’s words had disturbed 
her. 

But the faithful fellow was too watchful and 
too anxious not to detect it. “ Well, we shall 
see whether Northumberland gets m.ade king, 
for that’s what the Queen Jane’s cry means. But 
it was not that I came to speak to you about. 
Mistress Cecily, you were my friend when I 
had no one in the world to help me ; you helped 
me and my mother, too, and if laying down 
my life would serve you. I’d be glad to do it.” 

Cecily stared at him in surprise. 

What do you mean, Hodge } ” she said. 

Well, Mistress Cecily, I can see that you 
are anxious like, and no doubt it’s for the friends 
in London. Sir Peter, now, like a wise man, 
though he calls himself a Protestant, is going to 


142 


Cecily. 


declare for the Princess Mary, but many will be 
drawn into shouting and throwing caps for this 
stranger-girl. 

‘‘ Hodge, how dare you speak of the Lady 
Jane as a ‘ stranger-girl She is of the blood 
royal, and the purest, noblest, sweetest woman 
in England,” exclaimed Cecily. 

You may be that same, too. Mistress Cecily, 
and Pd lay down my life to serve you, for the 
good friend you’ve been to my mother ; aye, I’d 
lay down my life, but I’d not shout or throw my 
cap for you to be queen.” 

You are not likely to be asked,” said Cecily 
smiling. ‘‘The Lady Jane is one of the royal 
family, I tell you.” 

“ Ah ! but not the king’s sister. Mistress 
Cecily, let me say what I came to say, and be 
back to my work, for the knaves and wenches 
will be wondering why I talk to you. Fve seen 
changes — ah, sorry, sorry changes — and another 
is coming ; and there’s never a change but it 
brings sorrow to some* and if the Lady Mary is 
made queen it is easy to tell who will go down 
with that turn of the wheel. It will be you 
and your friends of the new religion. Mistress 
Cecily, I’ve thought of it — thought my time 
would come soon when I could serve you, and I 
ask you now to let me — to use me for any thing 


143 


A Friendly 0;Q^er, 

you need. IVe been the reeve, you know, and 
I’ve been to London, so that I can be trusted 
as a helpful body.” 

Cecily looked at the man, hardly knowing how 
to answer him. am sure I can trust you, 
Hodge,” she managed to say, at last ; “ but I — 
I hope I shall not need the service you offer.” 

^'But you may. In these changing times no 
one can tell what a day may bring ; and if you 
should be in danger, or have a wish to send a 
warning to your friends,” he whispered, I would 
be a trusty messenger.” 

“ Thank you ! thank you, Hodge. As you 
say, we know not what may happen, and if I 
should need a trusty messenger to send to my 
father, or — or to my friends, I will certainly 
send you.” 

‘'Any knave could go to Sir Peter,” said Hodge, 
“ but I doubt if messengers to London could 
always go in safety, if all the whispers I’ve heard 
be true.” 

“ Thank you for the warning. I will think of 
what you have said,” and Cecily turned to re- 
sume her walk, more disturbed than ever by 
what she had just heard. 

Was it true that the eastern counties were 
rising to assert the rights of the Princess Mary 
to the throne } and did her friends in London 


144 


Cecily. 


know of this ? Doubtless the Londoners would 
shout and throw caps for Queen Jane, and the 
bishops would preach powerful sermons on her 
behalf at Paul's Cross, where she would be pro- 
claimed queen ; but, unfortunately, London was 
not the whole of England, and Englishmen had 
an obstinate way of asking themselves what was 
right in the matter of the royal succession, with- 
out much regard as to what would follow after- 
ward. 

If the choice of a ruler lay entirely in their 
own hands, and the question had to be decided 
whether the succession to the throne should be 
decided on Papist or Protestant grounds — if the 
two royal ladies concerned had to stand entirely 
on their own merits as to their occupation of 
the throne — there was little doubt but that Lady 
Jane would have been chosen ; but as it was, 
Cecily could not but feel that, in assuming the 
royal state, her dear friend would be usurping 
the place of another. 

Then if the Earl of Northumberland was sin- 
cere in wishing to preserve the kingdom from 
popery, why had the young Princess Elizabeth 
been passed over ? She had been educated in 
the Protestant faith, and was as firm in her ad- 
herence to it as Lady Jane Grey. But, think of 
it as she would, Cecily only grew more troubled 


145 


A Friendly Offer, 

and anxious, for she was certain that this pre- 
text of securing the Reformation had only been 
made the stalking-horse for the duke’s insatia- 
ble ambition. With Jane as queen, his son 
would soon be declared king, and the virtual ruler 
of England would be the haughty duke himself. 

O, my friend, my dear friend Jane, what 
will be the end of this } ” sighed Cecily ; “ your 
obedience to your mother has been stretched 
too far this time, for she is hardly less ambitious 
than the duke himself, I know.” 

Then came a few day’s calm, and Cecily began 
to hope that the king’s life would be prolonged 
after all. Her father came home from his mis- 
sion to Kenninghall and Norwich in excellent 
spirits, but did not say a word to Cecily about 
the business that had taken him from home. 


146 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XI. 

QUEEN JANE, OR QUEEN MARY f 

HE household of Sir Peter Temple were 



J- awakened from their slumbers by a loud 
blast from the horn hanging at the outer gate. 
Cecily jumped out of bed and ran to her nurse, 
who slept in an inner room opening from her 
own. “ Gillian, Gillian, did’st hear the horn ? 
What can it be ? It is scarce daylight yet,” 
said Cecily ; and then she ran back to her own 
room, to peep through the lattice and see who 
the messenger or visitor could be. 

There was little fear of her taking cold this 
warm July morning, and Cecily pushed open 
her lattice, the better to hear all that was going 
on. The gate was not open yet, but her father’s 
voice could be heard directing the steward to 
make haste, and the next minute the man went 
grumbling across the garden. Then there was 
quiet for a minute ; only the first chirping of 
the little birds preparing to burst into their 
morning songs breaking the stillness of that 
quiet hour of dawn. 

But Cecily had no time to listen to the birds 


Queen yaftey or Queen Maryf 147 

this morning, or to look at the glistening dew- 
drops hanging from the vine on the south wall, 
for the messenger had been admitted, and the 
young lady recognized the livery of the Princess 
^ary. 

‘‘ I bring letters for the noble knight. Sir 
Peter Temple,'’ said the messenger, and then, 
as the sleepy servants gathered round, Cecily 
heard him say, ‘‘His Grace King Edward is 
dead,* hath been dead these two days, and my 
Lady Mary now summons her faithful subjects 
to her castle of Framlingham. Long live Queen 
Mary ! ” shouted the man. 

The shout was taken up instantly by the serv- 
ants, and brought Dame Gillian to the window. 
“ What is it ? What is it, my dear } ” she said 
anxiously. 

“ They — they are proclaiming Queen Mary,” 
said Cecily, preparing to go down to her father ; 
for she judged that he would obey the summons, 
and start for Framlingham as soon as his horse 
could be saddled. 

She was white and trembling when she en- 
tered the hall where her father was giving orders 
to his servants to arm and prepare to accom- 
pany him to Suffolk. 

“ Hey, Cecily, what ails you, wench } What 
are you frightened about ” 


148 


Cecily. 


Is the Princess Mary to be queen ? '' asked 
Cecily in a faltering tone. 

To be sure she is. Who else has the right ? ” 
demanded her father. 

''Yes, that is the worst of it: she has the 
right, but — 

" Come, come, wench, there must be no ' buts * 
in this matter. I know what you are thinking 
of ; I have thought of it, too, and others in Nor- 
folk and Suffolk as well ; and we have asked the 
Lady Mary what we may expect in the matter 
of religion, and she has given us a fair promise ; 
for there are many Protestants prepared to sup- 
port her cause, and she has promised to make 
no change in the matter of religion.” 

" Are you sure she has given such a promise 
as this ? ” asked Cecily. 

" Sure ! What do you mean ? ” said Sir Peter, 
impatiently ; " is not the plighted word of a 
king’s daughter enough ? ” 

" Yes, I suppose it is, only — only you know, my 
father, the Lady Mary would never give up the 
old superstition to please her brother,” 

" And right, too — quite right, if she believes 
the old religion,” said the baronet warmly. 
" Let every body please themselves, now there 
are two religions to choose from. That’s what 
I say ; and that is what Queen Mary will do.’* 


Queen yane, or Queen Maryf 149 

^ “ Queen Mary,” repeated Cecily ; and they 
are shouting for Queen Jane in London. 

‘‘ Never mind that now, Cecily ; I must be 
gone, for I have a long ride to Framlingham 
Castle, and time is precious now. Tell Gillian 
to look out some gay attire, something befit- 
ting a queen’s maid ; for you will ride with 
Queen Mary to London when she goes thither.” 
And what of Queen Jane } ” asked Cecily. 
Never mind Queen Jane. Let Northumber- 
land look to her. Have a care, though, about 
the knaves and wenches, and remember there 
is but one queen in England, Mary.” 

Mary may be the queen, but I shall think 
more of my friend — my dear friend. Lady Jane,” 
said Cecily, scarcely able to repress her tears. 

She sat down with her father to the morning 
meal of single and double ale, instead of the tea 
and coffee with which our modern breakfast 
tables are supplied ; but it was little that Cecily 
could either eat or drink this morning, and she 
was not sorry when it was over. 

As soon as her father had gone, she went 
down to see her friend. Dame Audley, and in- 
quire whether she had heard of Mildred lately. 

‘‘ No, indeed, I am looking for a letter by the 
next messenger Sir Peter sends to London,” 
said the dame, and then she began talking 
10 


Cecily. 


ISO 

about the prospects of having a better harves^ 
and the drying of her herbs — of every thing, in 
fact, but what Cecily was so anxious to hear 
just now, London news. 

At length the squire came in, and, seeing 
Cecily, he exclaimed, What is this I hear. 
Mistress Cecily, about the king s grace being 
dead two days, and no messenger sent from the 
council to inform the Lady Mary ? ” 

I am afraid they have proclaimed another 
queen in London,” said Cecily. 

“ But the king had no right to pass over his 
two sisters, and give the crown to his cousin.” 

It was done to insure the safety of the 
Reformation.” 

The squire paced up and down the hall im- 
patiently. “ What evil next will they commit 
in the name of the Reformation ? ” he inquired. 

“ I — I am afraid it is not right,” said Cecily, 

‘‘ and yet I cannot help wishing that the Lady 
Jane might be our queen, for she is the most 
learned and pious—” 

‘‘Yes, yes, so I have heard, and I pity her, 
poor young thing, being made the tool of the 
Dudleys ; but right is right, and you wont make 
people believe that wrong is right, even to save 
the Reformation. Besides, that is safe enough — 

I knew God would take care of that. The Lady 


\ 


Queen Jane, or Queen Mary ? 1 5 1 

Mary has pledged her word that she will not 
seek to overthrow it, and the Protestants, as 
well as the Catholics of the eastern counties, 
have promised to support her claim to the 
throne/' 

‘‘ And you think we may trust to this prom- 
ise ? ” asked Cecily. 

“ Of course, of course," said the squire, al- 
most as impatiently as Sir Peter himself had 
spoken. “ I told Mildred one day she was 
fretting over a trouble that would never come,” 
and he nodded significantly at Cecily. 

What trouble was that } ” asked his wife. 

‘‘ About the Lady Mary trying to bring back 
the old state of things ; I knew she would never 
attempt it, when more than half her subjects, 
and they the most enlightened, have embraced 
these new doctrines. No, no, there is no fear 
now,” added the squire, as if to assure himself 
as well as his wife. 

Cecily wished she could be as confident about 
this as her friend, but she took care not to in- 
fect him with her despondent fears. She spent 
several hours at the the manor-house, and then 
went down to the cottage of Widow Watkins, 
where, to her great surprise, she saw Hodge. 

I thought you went with my father this 
morning,” said Cecily. 


152 


Cecily. 


** No, Mistress Cecily, I asked Sir Peter to 
leave me behind, for I thought it might be that 
you would need me now/’ 

‘‘ Did you ? ” said Cecily, and tbe next mo- 
ment she added, ‘‘ Yes, Hodge, I do want you ; 
I want you to go to London, and carry some 
letters for me, and to bring me word quickly of 
all that is being done there. Go to the great 
cross in Chepe, and the conduit, too, and listen 
to the ’prentices, and ask Dame Mildred Scrope 
what the London priests say of the changes, 
and Lady Cecil will give you the court news. 
You will do this for me, Hodge 

Aye, that will I. When would you have 
me start on this journey he asked. 

‘‘ To-night or to-morrow morning ; the sooner 
the better,” said Cecily. 

Then to-night it shall be, if you will have 
the letters ready,” replied Hodge ; “ and lest 
any should know where I am going, I will jour- 
ney northward first, as if to Queen Mary.” 

‘‘ You may trust him. Mistress Cecily. Hodge 
will be true to you,” said the widow. 

• O yes, I do not fear. It may be after all 
that I am foolishly anxious ; but I would fain 
hear whether they have proclaimed the Lady 
Jane. For other friends there is little to fear, 
since Queen Mary has promised to make no 


Queen yaney or Queen Maryf 153 

change in the religion established by her father 
and brother.” 

The widow said nothing to this, but Hodge 
shook his head. I may tell all I meet that the 
eastern counties are rising for Queen Mary.?” 
he said. 

“You must be discreet about telling even 
this, I suppose. You will be careful, Hodge,” 
added Cecily, as she left the cottage. 

She had little fear as to his zeal in her behalf, 
but she felt by no means certain of his discre- 
tion ; and so the two or three letters she wrote 
were worded most cautiously, for fear they 
should fall into strangers’ hands. At nightfall 
Hodge saddled his horse and came for her let- 
ters, and the other servants thought she was 
sending some message to her father, but felt 
some jealousy as to her choice of a messenger. 

All the next day Cecily wandered about rest- 
less and uneasy, wondering what was going on 
in London, and wishing she was there. 

By noon the following day Hodge was back 
again, bringing letters from Lady Cecil and Mil- 
dred Scrope, and with his head so full of news 
that he could hardly keep up the ruse of having 
been to Framlingham, in his longing desire 
to display himself as the bearer of “London 
news.” 


. 154 


Cecily. 


Cecily saw the struggle that was going on, 
and, taking her letters, she said, “ Now, Hodge, 
you had better go down to Squire Audley and 
deliver your message there,” for the squire had 
been taken into her confidence and knew where 
Hodge had been. Then she flew up stairs to 
open her letters — Lady Cecil’s first, for she 
would be most likely to tell her all the court 
news. 

Cecily’s heart almost stood still as she read, 
‘‘On Monday your sweet friend. Queen Jane, 
came to the Tower, her mother and other ladies 
bearing her train, and about four o’clock two 
heralds left the Tower and immediately com- 
menced the proclamation, halting as they 
passed through Chepe and Fleet-street to de- 
clare that the Lady Mary’s mother, being di- 
vorced from the late King Henry, she had no 
title to the throne.” 

Cecily did not read the beginning or the close 
of the letter just then, and only wondered how 
Lady Cecil could write of other things just 
now. 

On opening Mildred Scrope’s letter she found 
that it began at once about the matter in hand. 

Sunday our good bishop. Master Ridley, 
preached a most godly sermon at Paul’s Cross, 
bidding us be thankful to God in that he has 


ISS 


Queen yane^ or Queen Mary ? 

spared us the sore calamity of having the Lady 
Mary to reign over us, and given us the pious 
Queen Jane/’ 

Cecily dropped her letter after reading this. 

O dear, what a dreadful puzzle every thing is ! ” 
she said ; Even good Master Ridley thinks 
that God ought to manage things that way ! and 
he is a bishop, wise and learned, and ought to 
know more £y3out such things than poor women 
folks. Yes, it does seem as though that is the 
way things ought to be — this noble Reforma- 
tion made secure at all costs ; and that is what 
good Master Ridley and many others think, I 
dare say ; but — but should it be made secure 
at the cost of what is right, and just, and true } 
The Lady Mary is King Henry’s true daugh- 
ter — his eldest daughter — and her father’s will 
decrees that she should succeed her brother if 
he died without children. Of course, the coun- 
cil and the bishops know this ; are they afraid 
that God cannot take care of his own work, and 
so will take care of the Reformation them- 
selves } It does seem like it, or they would not 
be so willing to trust that wily Duke of North- 
umberland, who cares far more about making 
his own power secure than he does for the Ref- 
ormation. He care for the Reformation ! ” 
repeated Cecily with scorn. After reading her 


Cecily. 


156 

letters fairly through, Cecily prepared to go to 
Squire Audley’s, to hear what the London news 
was that Hodge had brought by word of mouth ; 
for her letters told her little beyond the bare 
fact that Queen Jane had been duly proclaimed. 

As she expected, Hodge was in high feather 
over his journey to London, and the news he 
had collected there, and needed little pressing 
from Squire Audley to unfold his J:idings. The 
squire was looking rather anxious as Cecily 
went in, but, hearing that she had a letter from 
his daughter, he took it eagerly, and left her to 
talk with Hodge while he went to read it to his 
wife. 

“ Now, Hodge, make haste and tell me some- 
thing of the London news,'' said Cecily. 

Your letters have not told you every thing, 
then. Mistress Cecily ? " said Hodge eagerly. 

‘‘ No, indeed, they tell me very little but that 
Queen Jane was proclaimed on Monday after- 
noon. Now, I want you to tell me all you saw 
and heard. Did you go to the great cross in 
Chepe ? " asked Cecily. 

‘‘Yes, Mistress Cecily, I remembered your 
order, and rode on to that place as soon as I had 
left the letters with Dame Scrope in Aldgate ; 
and a sorrier sight I never saw than was in 
Chepe yesterday, for hard by the great conduit 


Queen Ja 7 ie, or Queen Maryf 157 

was set the pillory, and a likely young knave 
was bound there, and the blood was dripping 
as he sat, for both his ears had been cut off.” 

“ O, Hodge, how dreadful ! What had he 
been doing — robbing his master } Did you say 
he was a 'prentice ” 

‘‘Yes, he was a 'prentice, but it was not for 
robbery he had been set there, but for shouting 
for Queen Mary when he should have thrown 
his cap for the Lady Jane. He was drawer to 
a vintner ; but men are none the less willing to 
cry shame on those who set him there, and they 
were none so glad when the Lady Jane was 
proclaimed.'' 

“ Not glad ! '' said Cecily in amazement, 

Hodge shook his head. “ There were few caps 
thrown, and little shouting ; and, though a few 
citizens set out tables in the street with meat 
and drink for all comers, the people ate and 
drank and went their ways, but said little for 
the new Queen Jane. They whispered among 
themselves that Northumberland was a hard 
master, and the king's sister had the right to the 
throne.’' 

Cecily looked troubled, and, leaving Hodge to 
tell the squire's sons the rest of the news, she 
left the porch where she had been standing, and 
went into the house. But she turned back 


158 


Cecily. 


again before she had gone many steps. Hodge, 
did you tell Lady Cecil that the Lady Mary was 
gathering forces at the Castle of Framlingham ?’^ 
she asked anxiously. 

Yes, I told Lady Cecil that my master and 
most of the people in the eastern counties 
were for Queen Mary.’* Hodge persisted in call- 
ing her by this title, while Cecily as constantly 
ignored it, and spoke of her as Lady Mary, and 
of her friend as Queen Jane. She went now to 
ask the squire what he thought of the aspect of 
affairs. 

''Bad enough, any way,” said he bluntly. 
" Queen Mary is raising an army in Suffolk, 
and the Londoners will send another to meet it, 
of course, and England will again be pluwged 
in civil war,” and the squire walked away, look- 
ing more anxious than ever, and calling to his 
sons not to waste any more time in listening to 
London news, as they must look to the defenses 
of the house at once, for there was no knowing 
whether the London army would not be upon 
them the next day. Squire Audley had evi- 
dently made up his mind to declare for Mary. 

" It is right, it is right ; and I can’t sell my 
conscience even for the Reformation,” said the 
squire ; " I believe God can take care of it with- 
out our doing wrong to help him.” 


Queen Jane^ or Queen Mary"? 159 

O, I wish I knew ; but things are all so 
tangled that every thing seems a puzzle now.’* 
Not much of a puzzle if you make up your 
mind to do the only right thing and leave the 
rest to God,” said the squire bluntly. “ I tell 
you, Mistress Cecily, God can take care of the 
Reformation, but it wont be by the triumph of 
Queen Jane,” and with these words he left her 
and Dame Audley to comfort each other as they 
could. 


i6o 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XII. 

LONDON GOSSIP. 

S QUIRE AUDREY'S fears concerning a 
civil war were not verified in this instance. 
An army of six thousand men left London un- 
der the Duke of Northumberland, but not a 
blow was struck — not a battle fought ; and 
Northumberland himself shouted and threw up 
his cap for Queen Mary at Cambridge, thinking 
only of his own safety, and little of the sweet 
girl-queen he had left at the Tower. 

Cecily had no^cause to complain of the want 
of news during the next few days; for messen- 
gers came and went almost every day, and all 
too soon came the news that her dearly loved 
friend was a prisoner in the palace-fortress where 
a few days before she had been declared queen. 

Then Sir Peter Temple came home in high 
spirits ; for the throne had been won almost 
without a struggle, and every thing promised to 
go merry as a marriage-bell now for the right- 
ful queen. ‘‘ Her grace has not forgotten you, 
either, Cecily, but has chosen you as one of her 
maids of honor ; and I bring her royal com- 


London Gossip, l6l 

mand that you shall be ready to attend her 
when she journeys to London/* 

“ O my father, how can I do that ? ** said 
Cecily, bursting into tears ; I can think of 
nothing but my dear friend. Lady Jane, now a 
prisoner in the Tower/* 

‘‘Think what you like of the Lady Jane, but 
I bid you beware how you trifle with the favor of 
her grace. Queen Mary,’* said Sir Peter, angrily. 

Cecily knew that her father was not to be 
“ trifled ” with, and that it would be useless for 
her to raise any objection to what he had evi- 
dently made up his mind, and so, with her 
mind little in accord with her task, she sum- 
moned her waiting-maid and Gillian to assist 
her in turning over her court dresses, to select 
one or two suitable to wear at once ; for there 
was little time to prepare new dresses, as the 
queen was to enter London early in August. 

There was little need to ask what ailed Lon- 
don that third day of August, 1553, for every- 
where was heard shouting for Queen Mary; 
and little wonder was it that the city was 
half mad, for the conduits that usually sup- 
plied water were made to run wine, and barrels 
of strong ale stood at every street corner, where 
men might drink to the health of Queen Mary 
as often as they pleased. But perhaps the 


Cecily. 


162 

gayest of all the gay scenes was the neighbor- 
hood of Aldgate. Here the streets had all 
been laid with clean gravel, and the houses 
were hung with tapestry and flags and ban- 
ners, while the various guilds of the city were 
ranged in a ro»v, headed by the Lord Mayor, in 
his robe of office, and the sheriffs and mace- 
bearer, all waiting near the gate to welcome the 
new queen. The streets, of course, were crowd- 
ed with people, and Martin Scrope was one of 
them ; for although his house stood near, and 
Mildred was looking from a window, he pre- 
ferred to mingle with the crowd and listen to the 
scraps of conversation, that he might learn, if 
possible, what changes were likely to follow, or 
whether the promise Mary had given to leave 
the matter of religion as she found it was likely 
to be kept. Men were not yet afraid of avowing 
themselves Protestants, but he soon noticed 
that those of the old faith were pushing them- 
selves forward. 

“ Come, stand back there ! stand back ! '' said 
an official, giving Martin a push ; ‘‘ it is our turn 
now ; your day is over, and you Gospelers had 
better go home and hide yourselves like rats in 
their holes.*' 

Aye, aye, and keep there too, I trow, for our 
Lady Mary will have naught to do with heretics." 


Lo 7 idon Gossip. 163 

Well, ’tis the only favor we ask of her grace, 
to be let alone,’' retorted another. 

“ And that she has promised,” said a third. 

Promised ! ” repeated another, who had al- 
ready paid several visits to the conduit close by. 
Promised !” he hiccoughed; do you think the 
queen’s grace is to be bound by any promise 
given to heretics } ” 

‘‘ Well said, good gossip ; we have too many 
heretics in England. It has become the sink of 
Europe in these days, and all the pestilent Gos- 
pelers of France and Spain, and Italy and 
Flanders, have come hither, and been patronized, 
too, by our late king, who, I doubt not, is now 
in the fires of purgatory, sorely repenting the 
evil he has done this realm.” 

‘‘Ah, we have had over many foreigners 
among us ! How many of these hot Gospelers 
didst say had come to England?” he asked in- 
sinuatingly. 

“As many as thirty thousand ! Think of it, 
gossips ; thirty thousand foreign heretics, eat- 
ing the bread that should of right be ours, and 
devouring Church property that has been left 
by the pious for the relief of the poor and the 
saying of masses for the delivery of souls from 
purgatory.” 

A half-suppressed groan followed this speech, 


164 


Cecily. 


and there were cries of ‘‘ Shame ! from many of 
the bystanders, until at last Martin said, Now, 
neighbors, you have only heard one side of the 
question from this man. It may be true, as he 
says, that there are thirty thousand Protestant 
refugees among us, but they are not our army 
of beggars. Many are craftsmen, like your- 
selves, and some, his grace our late king sent 
for because of their learning to teach in our 
universities. Some of you have heard, perhaps, 
of Peter Martyr and Bernard Ochino.” 

“Two renegade Italian monks,” sneered the 
man who had first spoken against the foreign- 
ers. “ Italy would have no such heretics in her 
States. She was warned by the example of 
Germany and England, and is even now crush- 
ing out the last remnants of the attempt to 
bring heresy into the dominions of the Church. 

‘‘ What ! are the Gospelers so bold as to try 
to sow the seeds of heresy under the very nose 
of the Pope ? ” asked one. 

“Aye, that did they, and succeeded only too 
well in some places ; so that it is only by fire 
and rack and sword that the place can be 
purged and the air made fit for his holiness to 
breathe.” 

Just then there was a movement in the crowd, 
and Martin Scrope was jostled out of his place. 


i65 


London Gossip, 

but found himself next in the company of friends, 
two or three of them being his own parish- 
ioners. 

“Well, Master Scrope, what is this change 
likely to bring us ?” asked one rather anxiously. 

“ If the queen’s grace will keep her promise 
and leave us alone, it is all we can ask, all we 
can expect. Religion must go barefoot now,” 
he said, with something of a smile. 

“Well, well, perhaps it will do her no harm 
to put off her dainty slippers. She has basked 
in court favor of late, and too much sunshine 
has encouraged other growths than piety among 
us, I fear,” said a white-haired old man. 

“Well, good gossip, we must all live, and 
there was one thing I had to complain of in 
this new religion, and that was the mean way 
that got to be the fashion in funerals. Now, 
why shouldn’t there be heralds and banners and 
wax lights at every funeral ? How are poor 
men like me to live, when these things begin 
to go out of fashion ? Because, forsooth, the 
religion is plain and mean and has little show 
about it, are funerals to be the same ? Mind, 
I’m saying no word against the new religion. I 
agree with it in most things ; and as for our 
good parish priest here. Master Scrope, who has 

labored to teach us to be as wise as himself in 
11 


i66 


Cecily. 


things that the old priest told us we could know 
naught about — why, I wouldn't go back to the 
old times for any thing except the business ; 
and it is business a man must think of when 
he's got a wife and children. The banners 
and pennons get less and less every funeral 
that's ordered." 

‘‘ Ah, good neighbor, yours is not the only 
craft that's suffered," said another. “There's 
nothing to do for the Churches now the saints 
have all been turned out — no cleaning, painting, 
and gilding the apostles and holy Mother, .such 
as need td be, so that I might as well be the 
veriest clown and knave, instead of being the 
most skillful painter in Chepe, for all the work 
I can get.^' 

“ Well, well, I am only afraid your business 
will soon revive, Master Painter," said Martin, 
and then he slipped his arm within the old 
man's. There was another movement of the 
crowd, and the old man was joined by his son, 
who, like Martin, was a parish priest. 

“Ah, good Brother Scrope, evil times are 
coming, I fear," he said. 

“ Well, Kasse, it is certain that we shall find 
little favor it court, but that, I think, will be little 
loss to true religion ; but I think the Lady Mary 
will keep her promise, and leave things as she 


London Gossip, 167 

finds them, unless we give her occasion to think 
we are traitors ; and then — ” 

“ She will seize the first opportunity of break- 
ing it,” interrupted Kasse. 

'‘Then we must see to it that she has no fair 
pretext for doing so,” said Martin ; " and it would 
be well for us to keep as sharp an eye on our 
professed friends as our open foes. Let us 
not mix ourselves with rebels and evil-minded 
persons who may try to persuade us that we 
have a right to many things we have had by 
favor of late. If her grace will grant us the 
liberty to worship God after our own conscience 
we will be content.’' 

The old man shook his head. " I fear ’tis 
more than we shall get,” he said. "There has 
been sharp work already. The late king’s 
schoolmasters, Masters Cheke and Cooke, and 
our good bishop. Master Ridley, have all been 
haled to the Tower ; and it is as much for their 
religion as for the part they took in proclaiming 
the Lady Jane.” 

Martin Scrope shook his head. " I dare not 
whisper such a thing to my wife, but I greatly 
fear it, too,” he said. 

" Ah, the poor women folk ! ’tis of them, and 
priests’ wives especially, that I have thought of 
late.” 


Cecily. 


i68 

Martin raised his hand as if to ward off a 
blow. Don’t, don’t,” he said, in a hoarse 
whisper, '"I cannot bear to think of that;” 
but the din in the street prevented the old man 
from hearing the whispered words, and he went 
on, quite unconscious that every word he spoke 
w^ent like a dagger to the heart of the man 
standing by his side. 

“ The first thing they will do is to repeal this 
law permitting priests to marry, and they will 
declare that, being unable to marry because of 
their priestly vows, all such marriages are null 
and void, and priests will be ordered to separate 
from their wives.” 

“ And what of our children ? ” asked Martin, 
stung into replying. 

‘‘ Need you ask } But there, there ! ” said the 
old man, who began to see that the subject was 
an unwholesome one; ^*it may not happen after 
all, and if it does — ” 

Martin could bear no more, and just at that 
moment a shout was raised near the gate that 
the queen was near, and Martin pressed for- 
ward, like every body else, to see whether any 
assurance of hope could be gathered from Mary’s 
countenance. 

God save the queen ! God save Queen Mary ! ” 
shouted the populace, as the brilliant train drew 





i 

\ 

h 


1 


\ 


f 

f 


r 


f 


4 


) 


I 


: 

t 



s' 



Queen Mary’s Entry Into London. 









London Gossip, 


171 


near. It was, indeed, a sight to be remembered 
on which the sun looked down that brilliant 
August day. Side by side the royal sisters 
rode into Aldgate — the queen and the Lady 
Elizabeth — tlie jewels they wore and the ele- 
gant trappings of their horses making them 
almost too dazzling to gaze at for more than a 
minute. To judge from appearances one would 
have thought that it was for Elizabeth that 
mighty crowd was shouting ; for she bowed 
and smiled continually, and made a conquest of 
the people’s heart that day. Her sister, on the 
contrary, received this tumultuous welcome as 
though it were a thing of right, and sat upon 
her horse calm and unmoved, hardly deigning 
to notice it, even by relaxing her stern, hard 
features. 

But people had little time to criticise the de- 
meanor of their queen, for her train of noble 
ladies, richly dressed in silver tissue, cloth of 
gold, velvet, and brocade, all seated on horses as 
gayly dressed as their riders, follov/ed close be- 
hind, and after them came the lord mayor and 
officials of the city ; then a train of nobles, with 
attendant knights and esquires, with flags fly- 
ing, and banners with armorial bearings, until 
the eyes grew dazzled and dizzy with gazing. 

Among the queen’s maids of honor rode 


1/2 


Cecily. 


Cecily Temple, looking sad and downcast in the 
midst of all this pomp and splendor, for her 
heart was with the captive Lady Jane, and she 
was thinking with some bitterness of how she 
had gone to the Tower less than a month before, 
as Queen Mary was now going, the center of a 
scene as brilliant, her own proud mother acting 
as train bearer. But now — now where was the 
nine days* queen } and what would be her fate, 
with that old offense — the sarcastic remark 
about the hosts — till rankling in Mary*s mind } 
P'or Cecily knew that it did rankle, and would 
never be forgiven by her implacable mistress. 

Their passage through the gate of the city 
was of necessity a slow affair, for the gate-way, 
like the streets, was narrow, and the crowd 
would not be beaten back ; so that, riding slowly 
along, Cecily, who was on the lookout for a 
friendly face among the crowd, soon espied 
Martin Scrope, and gave him a friendly smile of 
greeting. 

He did not recognize her until she thus 
singled him out from the crowd, and then he 
started with surprise. “ Mistress Cecily in the 
train of our new queen ! ** he murmured ; what 
can it mean } *’ He puzzled himself in vain 
over this question, half doubting, yet half fear- 
ing, whether she had been persuaded already to 


173 


London Gossip, 

abjure the reformed faith for the honor and 
glory of this court favor. He mused over this, 
looking at, yet seeing nothing of, the brilliant 
train of nobles, knights, esquires, guards and 
servants that brought up the rear of the long 
cortege. 

It came to an end at last, and many, having 
shouted themselves hoarse, now hurried to the 
wine-running conduits, or the ale barrels, to re- 
fresh themselves, and a few friends found time 
to exchange opinions about what they had seen. 

“ ’Twas a brave show,’' said old Master Kasse ; 
who was still leaning on his son’s arm. 

‘'Ah, and you shouted bravely, loo, father,” 
said the son. 

“ Marry, and why should I not shout 'i ” said 
the old man. “ You did the same, son Thomas, 
and quite right — quite right. The Lady Mary 
is our rightful queen, and it was our duty to 
give her a right loyal welcome.” 

“ I wish, though, that she was more like her 
sister, the Lady Elizabeth,” said the younger 
man, “ our queen looks as though—” 

“Ah, as though she were ten years older 
than her sister, who, of course, is young and 
witching,” laughed old Kasse. 

“ It is not that, father, but there is a look in 
the queen’s face I like not” 


174 


Cecily. 


“Tut, tut! speak not evil of princes,” said 
his father ; “ let it not be said that we are the 
least loyal of her grace's subjects. She has 
given her royal word not to molest us, and let 
that suffice to put down all ungenerous sus- 
picion.” 

“ Yes, yes, I think it ought,” said Martin 
Scrope, rallying from his abstraction. “ I have 
just seen a noble lady riding in the queen’s 
train, whom I know to be as firm a Protestant 
as you or I. It is well known, too, that the 
Lady Elizabeth is a firm Protestant, and yet she 
is riding with the queen in all sisterly love.” 

“ Well, I hope — I do hope that our gloomy 
forebodings may all prove wrong. It does seem 
as though we were afraid to- trust God with his 
own work,” added Master Thomas. 

“Ah, we are often too ready with our bold 
hands to steady the ark of God. We forget 
that he can work without us, and will do it, too, 
in spite of all our blunders, that go near to 
marring what we would make. I sometimes 
fear me this business about the Lady Jane is a 
sore blunder. 'Tis certain that we tried to do evil 
that good might come ; as though men gathered 
grapes of thorns and figs of thistles.” . 

“ Well, father, what was done was done with a 
good intent by many,” said Kasse, and then, seeing 


175 


London Gossip. 

that Martin was looking sad and anxious again, 
he drew him into conversation about something 
else, and the two friends were soon so deep in 
this that they did not see a horseman wearing 
the queen's livery galloping down the street, un- 
til a loud shout warned them of the danger, 
and then it was too late. Martin Scrope was 
knocked down ; and when the man tried to rein 
in his horse he plunged and reared so violently 
that poor Martin was kicked several times be- 
fore he could be dragged out of the way by his 
friend. 


176 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

AT THE ALDGATE PARSONAGE. 

I T was with some difficulty that Martin was 
rescued from this perilous position, and 
when at last he had been dragged from the mid- 
dle of the road his friend saw, to his dismay, that 
he was quite insensible. Now, now, good 
people, lend a hand here,'* said Kasse to those 
who had gathered round. ‘‘ My friend’s house 
is close by ; help me to carry him there, and 
one of you run for a doctor.” 

Two or three men soon lifted the sufferer in 
their arms and bore him after Kasse, who went 
on first to prepare Mildred for her husband’s 
coming. He had only time to say a few hur- 
ried words when the men came up with their 
burden. Mildred was equal to the emergency ; 
she neither screamed nor fainted, but, after one 
anxious look at her husband’s pallid face, went 
to prepare a chamber for him, and the next 
minute bade the men lay him on the bed. The 
doctor followed very quickly, and soon pro- 
nounced Martin’s injuries to be a broken leg 
and sundry bruises about the head, which he 


A t the A Idgate Parsonage, 177 

hoped might not prove very troublesome, now 
that they had been promptly attended to. 

Kasse looked somewhat dismayed when he 
heard the nature of his friend’s injuries, and he 
and his father nodded and whispered and shook 
iheir heads as they looked compassionately at 
the two little children who had crept into the 
room, and now stood looking shyly at the 
strangers. 

God help them, if our fears prove true 
prophets ! ” said the elder man. 

“ God always helps people,” said the eldest 
girl ; don’t you know ^ Our Father } ’ ” 

Come here, little one, and let me hear you 
say ‘ Our Father,’ ” said the old man ; for these 
Reformers clung to this divine prayer, almost 
believing that when once this had been learned 
in English it would be impossible to go back to 
the ‘‘ beggarly elements ” of popery again. 

Old Master Kasse was still talking to the 
children when the doctor came into the room. 
This is a most unfortunate accident,” he said, 
and but for the fact that Master Scrope has 
such an excellent wife he would have small 
chance of his life. His injuries are more severe 
than I thought.” 

‘‘ Then he is very badly hurt,” said the 
younger man sadly. 


178 


Cecily. 


Badly hurt ! I never knew a man so near 
being killed and survive, and it will be months 
— perhaps a year — before he will be able to go 
out again.” 

Does Dame Scrope know ? ” asked Kasse. 

‘‘ She knows that he is badly hurt — that 
his life is in danger ; but she is no fool, to 
scream and faint, but just the wife every priest 
needs. I came to say a word to you who are 
his friends. I have already spoken to his wife, 
although there was little need to warn her 
against troubling him with any unpleasant 
rumors that may presently be flying about. 
Of course, the Reformed faith will find no favor 
at court now, and there may be rumors of other 
changes ; but, whatever they may be, our friend 
Master Scrope must not hear them. His head 
is injured as well as his leg broken, and he must 
be kept in peace and quiet at all costs.” 

We will remember what you say, doctor,” 
said Master Kasse, as the doctor took his leave ; 
and when Mildred came in soon afterward, look- 
ing pale and anxious, but still brave and cheer- 
ful, Kasse asked what he could do to help her 
in the parish work. 

''That is just what I have come to see you 
about. Master Kasse,” said Mildred; "for 
when poor Martin recovers his senses his first 


At the Aid gate Parsonage, 179 

thought and care will be for his parish, and I 
want to assure him that every thing is cared 
for almost as well as though he was doing it 
himself/' 

Well, I will undertake the Church services, 
and either do it myself or with the help of 
friends,” said the priest. 

And I will visit some of the sick for you, 
and teach a few little ones the Lord’s Prayer,” 
said the old man. 

“ O thank you, thank you ; if you will do this, 
and tell the poor bead men and women to come 
here for their dole, or for any help my husband 
used to give them at the church, I shall feel so 
very thankful. You will tell the sick that I 
will come and see them as soon as I can leave 
Master Scrope ; but just at first he will need 
all my care.” 

The next day Mildred was called from her 
husband’s bedside to see a '‘court lady,” whom 
her servant, Deborah, had left standing at the 
door, in her flurry to tell her mistress. Mildred 
wondered, too, what " court lady ” would come 
to visit her, for she had not noticed Cecily in 
the queen’s train. She was, therefore, greatly 
surprised to see her old friend standing near the 
door. Cecily was looking very anxious, but she 
knew nothing of the accident, and did not no- 


i8o 


Cecily. 


tice Mildred’s pale face ; but before she had 
reached the sitting room, to which Mildred had 
led her, she said — 

“ My dear friend, I have come in fulfillment 
of the promise I once gave you — do you under- 
stand ? ” for Mildred had turned to her visitor, 
looking as though she had forgotten every thing 
connected with that conversation twelve months 
before. 

“A promise!” repeated Mildred. I must 
be very stupid, but I cannot recollect.” 

Not recollect the dread you felt when we 
talked of the king dying ” said Cecily in sur- 
prise, for she had expected to find her friend 
almost beside herself with anxiety, now that 
their worst fears had been realized. But, what- 
ever her husband’s fears had been of late, they 
had been carefully hidden from ,his wife, and 
here in London the Reformation had seemed so 
firmly rooted — so secure — that the old dread had 
passed entirely out from Mildred’s life, and she 
could not recall now what Cecily’s promise had 
been about. 

I have come to warn you, Mildred I Don’t 
you remember I said I would do so if ever the 
time came that the warning was needful ? Now 
I think the time has come ; and you and Mar- 
tin and your dear little children ought to leave 


At the Aldgate Parsonage. i8l 

London-had better leave England, for — for the 
queen will not keep her promise, I fear/^ 

Mildred passed her hand across her brow 
wearily. ‘‘ I think I know what you mean, 
Cecily, but I cannot leave England, or even 
London, now, for my dear husband is like to die 
of—" 

“ Martin ill ! But, Mildred, surely I saw him 
yesterday as I rode after the queeiVs grace.^^ 

‘‘ Yes, the accident did but happen yester- 
day ; " and Mildred told what she supposed her 
talkative maid would not fail to tell to every one 
that came to the door. 

‘‘It is, indeed, a woeful accident," said Cecily, 
when she heard of Martin's dangerous condition, 
which would sadly complicate matters, and ren- 
der escape almost impossible. 

“Yes, I dare not leave him many minutes, 
for, although he has not recovered consciousness, 
the pain he suffers makes him very restless." 
It was evident that Mildred’s mind was so full 
of sorrow for her husband that she could not 
grasp the idea of this danger, now that it actually 
threatened her, although it had almost over- 
whelmed her before ; and Cecily soon saw this. 

“ Poor Mildred, you ought to have some one 
with you besides that wench) who was frightened 
of a court lady," she said. 


i 82 


Cecily. 


‘‘ I had thought of sending for mother, but 
not now ; she must not come here, now that you 
tell me what may happen, for it will be worse 
than death to her, Cecily, and she might let 
Martin know it, too, and that must not be/’ 

But what will you do ? ” asked Cecily. 

I can bear it — bear any thing they can say 
or do, for I know that nothing can really sepa- 
rate me from my Martin, for we are one in the 
love of God ; and if God took him he would be 
waiting until I could join him in the kingdom 
of our Father.” 

‘‘ But, Mildred dear, you must not forget your 
little children,” said Cecily, hardly able to re- 
press her tears; for this calm, placid Mildred 
she could not understand : she seemed already 
to have passed to a region where earth’s sorrows 
could only fall harmless at her feet. 

But at the mention of her children something 
of the old Mildred appeared again. “ Do you 
think I could ever forget them ? ” she asked al- 
most fiercely. “No, no; but for their sake I 
must keep Martin quiet ; he must not be dis- 
turbed, and this he would be if my mother 
should come hither and hear these sorry ti- 
dings you bring.” 

“ But, Mildred, would it be impossible to carry 
your husband to a place of safety ? Gardiner, 


At the Aldgate Parsonage, 183 

the cruel, persecuting bishop, is already released 
from his prison-room in the Tower, and is, I 
hear, to be made lord chancelor. The order is 
now preparing for the release of Bonner from 
the Marshalsea, and one poor man, for ventur- 
ing to say that the queen ought to keep her 
promise in this matter of religion, has already 
been put in the Chepe pillory, I hear/' 

But nothing seemed to rouse Mildred's fears 
now, and at last Lady Cecily was obliged to 
leave, promising, however, to come again the 
following day, and see if Martin was not better. 
From her friend, Mildred Scrope, Cecily went to 
Lady Cecil's, to talk over this and other matters. 
Only a day or two before this lady had been in 
as great trouble as her friend, but by the in- 
terest of herself and her sister, Mrs. Baron, Sir 
Anthony Cooke had been released from the 
Tower, and they had good hopes of gaining the 
pardon of his companion, Master Cheke. 

Lady Cecil was full of enthusiasm about this, 
although she informed Cecily, as a great secret, 
that she feared her father would leave England 
before long. 

“ That is what I am anxious Mildred Scrope 
and her husband should do, but this accident 
will, I fear, make it impossible," said Cecily. 

But wherefore should they be in such a 
12 


1 84 


Cecily. 


hurry to leave ? I do not think the queen will 
break her promise not to interfere with the es- 
tablished religion/* 

But Cecily shook her head. “ You do not 
know that evil-minded tyrant, Gardiner. I have 
heard that my beloved mistress, Queen Catha- 
rine Parr, narrowly escaped losing her life 
more than once. Once he had so far gained the 
king’s consent that he brought an armed party 
with him to arrest the queen for heresy; but 
in this he went too far, for the king had altered 
his mind. But Gardiner has not abated his 
hatred, I trow, and presently we shall see an- 
other such scene as that of Mistress Anne 
Askew.” 

'‘Anne Askew was rash and indiscreet,” said 
Lady Cecil; “Let me warn you, Cecily, not to 
follow her example.” 

“ I am afraid I have not the courage ; and, in- 
deed, it seems little likely that any in these evil 
times will follow the example of that godly 
woman, and die rather than deny the Lord 
Christ.” 

“ We do not know, we cannot tell,” said Lady 
Cecil musingly. “As you say, the times are 
evil, and, doubtless, many have professed the Re- 
formed doctrine because it was fashionable — 
because it would gain for them court favor or 


At the Aldgate Parsonage, 185 

the patronage of some great man, or some office in 
Church or State ; and these, of course, will be the 
first to throw off the disguise, as my Lord North- 
umberland has done, and like him boldly now 
avow that they have ever been Catholics in heart. 
Then there will be some — many — who through 
timorousness, or for some other weighty reason, 
will conform ; perhaps go to the mass, if it be 
commanded ; but think not that they will be- 
lieve in it, or embrace it in their hearts, only — '' 
and the lady paused, her eyes falling beneath 
the earnest gaze Cecily bent upon her. 

^^Yoti do not counsel such weak compliance 
— you, Mildred Cooke ! ” said Cecily. 

“ I — I was but saying what might be — what 
many good earnest Protestants might be forced 
to do, if the queen follows the counsel of Gar- 
diner and Bonner, who are soon to be released, 
I hear. Cecily, be warned in time, and flaunt 
no defiance in the queen's face." 

“ What do you mean } I should not think of 
defying the queen, but I cannot act contrary to 
my conscience — I cannot go to mass, even to 
please Queen Mary." 

'' Then you will be dismissed in disgrace, 
and that will anger your father, even if nothing 
worse should follow. Now, Cecily, let me give 
you a word of warning — -be cautious." 


Cecily. 


1 86 

I will not run into needless danger. I have 
not the courage of Dame Anne Askew, who, 
when she heard that the priests of Lincoln had 
boasted that they would assault her and put her 
to great trouble, boldly went to the minster, to 
read the Bible chained at the desk.'' 

'' A most foolish thing to do," remarked Lady 
Cecil. 

“ No, no ; I think that Anne Askew did mean 
by this to vindicate the right which the king 
had granted to all his subjects — the right to read 
the Bible in English ; and that the priests dared 
not molest her is a proof that they knew her to 
be innocent of any wrong doing, when she stood 
before them reading and turning the leaves of 
the great Bible." 

“ Well, well, Cecily, I hope that the fate of 
poor Mistress Askew will be a warning to many 
in these days. Now, can you tell me any thing 
concerning the fate of Lady Jane Dudley and 
her husband ? The Duke of Suffolk, her father, 
is to be released, I hear." 

Yes, the proud duchess made supplication to 
the queen for him, saying he was ill ; but — that 
woman cannot have a heart, Mildred — for not 
one word did she say for her sweet young 
daughter, though 'tis well known she forced the 
crown upon her. My dear friend Jane ! if I 


Al the Aldgate Parsonage, 187 

might only visit her, it would be some little 
comfort,” concluded Cecily with a burst of 
tears.” 

‘‘ Now, Cecily, if you wish to help Lady Jane, 
you must not do aught to offend the queen,” said 
Lady Cecil. I am truly sorry for what oc- 
curred at Newhall last summer, for it's said 
that Mary has neither forgotten nor forgiven 
the Lady Jane's sarcastic words, and I fear her 
stout Protestantism will stand sadly in the way 
of her pardon.” 

“ I fear it greatly, too ; but of this I am sure, 
that Lady Jane will not thank me "for any favor 
done her at the cost of my duty to God. But 
now let me ask what you would counsel me to 
do in this matter of Martin Scrope } ” 

They cannot leave London, you say ? ” 

No, it is quite impossible. Do you know 
what their punishment is likely to be — hers as 
well as his — if this dreadful law of the Six Ar- 
ticles is revived ? And since Gardiner, who was 
the principal author of it at first, is again in 
royal favor, I fear it is sure to be re-enacted.” 

Their marriage will be declared null and 
void, I suppose,” said Lady Cecil. 

That is not all. Their possessions are all 
to be forfeited to the crown, and themselves im- 
prisoned for life. O Mildred, think of the aching 


i88 


Cecily. 


hearts, the desolated homes, the shame and 
sorrow and anguish that will fall upon hundreds 
of devout, earnest men and women, if these in- 
famous Six Articles become law again. Cannot 
Sir William do something to prevent it ? They 
say the present Parliament will be dismissed at 
once, and another chosen, who will pass Cath- 
olic laws. Cannot Sir William do something 
for the poor Protestants in this matter } '' 

‘‘ Cecily, what could he do ? he is but a serv- 
ant of the crown. The secretary of State can 
only obey the orders of the king and coun- 
cil, and, my dear child, you are distressing your- 
self needlessly — ^you are running forward to 
meet troubles that may never come. Let us 
wait patiently. I do not think the queen 
will risk losing the favor of her people by break- 
ing her promise.*' 

‘‘ But you forget it is not the queen alone we 
have to fear, but men like Gardiner and Bonner, 
who will urge her to restore popery at all costs. 
I think your father is wise ; and I doubt not 
that many more learned and godly men will 
leave the kingdom while they have the chance 
to escape. By and by it will be too late, per- 
haps ; and that is why I want to think of some 
plan for poor Mildred Scrope, since she cannot 
think for herself ; she cannot even see any 


At the Aldgate Parsonage. 189 

danger now, her heart is so full of sorrow for 
her husband.” 

But although several plans were discussed, 
they each had to be dismissed in turn — some- 
times by Lady Cecil, sometimes by Cecily 
herself ; and at last she had to leave her friend 
with the question of Martin Scrope’s safety 
still unanswered, and she returned to the Tower, 
duly attended by her maid and a train of foot- 
men, as became her rank as a court lady.” 


190 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE QUEEN’S BREACH OF PROMISE. 

M ildred was not troubled with the care 
of her husband's parish work long. Her 
friend, Master Kasse, conducted the service in 
English the Sunday following Martin's accident, 
but before the next came round the national 
religion had been changed ; the mass was or- 
dered to take the place of the simple English 
service, and the lord mayor had been instructed 
not to allow in any city ward open reading of 
the Scriptures in churches, or preaching by the 
curates, unless licensed by the queen." As the 
head of the English Church, Mary had the 
power to do this ; and after the example that 
had been made of the country gentlemen who 
ventured to remind people of the queen's promise 
in this matter, men were cautious how they talked, 
for no one coveted a seat in the pillory, with the 
probable loss of his ears in the bargain. 

No time was now lost in removing the great 
Bibles that had been chained to the desk in 
every church for the use of all who desired to 
read them. The communion tables were also 


The Queen s Breach of Promise, 191 

removed, and altars, with their elaborate orna- 
ments and fittings, were soon set up. There 
was plenty of work now for the wax chandlers, 
painters, and gilders, for the Lord’s Prayer and 
Ten Commandments, which had been engraved 
above each communion table, were painted out, 
and images of the saints, or pictures, took their 
place, surrounded by a blaze of light from enor- 
mous candles kept burning before them. 

To many this change of religion meant a re- 
vival of their declining trade, while many others 
looked upon it as an inalienable right of the 
sovereign, since the headship of the Church 
was vested in the crown, to make such changes 
in the national religion as was thought fit. It 
was not the first time the whole ritual had been 
changed in this way ; and, much as they might 
deplore it, and in their hearts cling to the sim- 
pler and more reasonable service, many went 
to the parish church and joined in the service 
of the mass, feeling they would be guilty of a 
breach of loyalty to dare to question their sov- 
ereign’s wisdom or will in this matter. 

Many others, however, regarded their duty to 
God as being above their duty to the queen. 
They were willing to fulfill the apostle’s injunc- 
tion and “honor the king,” but they could not 
forget that “ to fear God ” was the first command ; 


192 


Cecily. 


and their ^^fear of God” forbade them joining 
in the idolatrous worship of the mass ; and so 
their places were empty in church, and many of 
them gathered in each other s houses to pray, 
read the Scriptures, and hear their own minis- 
ters expound them ; for, of course, these Prot- 
estant clergymen, like Martin Scrope and 
Thomas Kasse, could not obtain the queen’s 
license, and many of the Protestant bishops 
were now in prison. 

Cecily’s visits to the Scropes were at an end 
when the queen left the Tower, about the mid- 
dle of August, for her palace of Whitehall, and 
it was not until the middle of September that she 
found an opportunity of visiting her friends again. 

Martin was better by that time. The wounds 
on his head were healing, he had recovered 
consciousness, and it was hoped his brain had 
received no serious injury. He knows me 
now quite well, and the children, too,” said Mil- 
dred delightedly. 

‘‘ He knows nothing of the change that has 
taken place, I suppose,” said Cecily. 

‘‘ O, no, indeed, and he must not know it yet,” 
said Mildred earnestly ; “ the shock would kill 
him, I am sure.” 

‘‘ And yet I — I think, Mildred, you ought to 
tell him something of it, and ask the doctor 


The Queen s Breach of Promise. 193 

whether he cannot be moved ; for you ought to 
leave England, and at once, too/’ 

‘‘It is quite impossible,” said Mildred; “I 
cannot, dare not, risk his life by telling him 
what has happened lately.” 

“ But, my dear friend, have you thought that 
this is but the beginning, and worse may follow } 
Did you know that good Master Hooper, the 
Bishop of Gloucester, has been taken, and 
brought to the Fleet, and one of the first ques- 
tions Gardiner asked him was, whether he was 
married ‘ Yes, my lord, and will not be un- 
married until death unmarry me,’ said Hooper. 
Upon which Gardiner reproached him, and 
called him a beast, and ordered him to be con- 
fined in the most noisome dungeon in the Fleet, 
next the town ditch. Think you now that you 
will be in better case by and by if you do not 
make good your escape very soon } ” 

“ But, Cecily, it would be certain death to my 
husband to move him — even the telling him 
the need of it might prove fatal. Master Kasse 
says he will not give up all for lost yet — the con- 
vocation will not resign every thing quietly. 

“ But what can convocation do, or even the 
Parliament.^ ’ said Cecily. “ The queen is the 
head of the Church until she hands that power 
to the Pope again.” 


194 


Cecily. 


‘‘ And think you she will do that ? 

‘‘ I am sure she wishes it ; for it is against 
her conscience that she exercises this power/’ 
said Cecily, and then she told her friend of the 
splendid preparations being made for the 
queen’s coronation, and how busy all the tail- 
ors and embroiderers, were preparing dresses 
for the court. 

But by and by the conversation came back 
to the old subject, by Cecily’s saying that she 
was going to the Fleet on her way back, to 
give poor Bishop Hooper a little money ; for he 
was almost dependent upon charity, even for 
what he had in prison. 

It must be a comfort to him to know that 
his wife and children are in safety, for Dame 
Hooper has gone to Holland, you know,” added 
Cecily. 

'Ham glad,” said Mildred, "since the bishop 
is in such evil case that his wife can do nothing 
for him ; but with Martin it is quite different, 
and — and I have less fear about our marriage 
now than I once had. I have talked with other 
good dames here in London, who will not be- 
lieve that their marriage can ever be a matter 
of reproach, a scandal, or a crime. Has not 
God said, ' A man shall leave his father and 
his mother, and cleave unto his wife ? ’ Has not 


The Queen 's Breach of Promise, 195 

an apostle said, ^ Marriage is honorable in all ? ' 
and, ‘A bishop should be the husband of one 
wife ? ’ which is quite plain to me that the Script- 
ures do not forbid priests to marry/' 

Cecily was very glad to see something of the 
old spirit roused in Mildred, but she knew that, 
however much she might have been strength- 
ened in her own mind and conscience as to the 
fitness of l#r marriage when brought to the law 
of God, it might be declared null and void by 
the law of the land, and probably would be 
when the new Parliament met, for means were 
being taken to secure the return of such mem- 
bers as would not be likely to oppose the 
wishes of the queen in the matter of religion ; 
and she tried to explain something of this to 
her friend; but Mildred would not be alarmed. 
Her husband’s health must be her sole care 
now, and since there had been a little improve- 
ment in his condition he must be guarded with 
the greater solicitude, that none of these un- 
pleasant rumors might reach him. 

So Cecily was obliged to go away, feehng that 
she could do nothing more for her friends at 
present, and hardly knowing whether to praise 
or blame Mildred for her persistent determina- 
tion to keep all knowledge of the danger from 
her husband. 


196 


Cecily. 


From the Aldgate parsonage to the Tower was 
not far, and she had received permission to pay 
a short visit to her dear friend, Lady Jane Grey, 
who was still a prisoner. The Duke of North- 
umberland, and some of the other chief con- 
spirators who had made her queen, had already 
been beheaded, but it was hoped that the inno- 
cent girl who had been but their tool and dupe 
would obtain the queen’s pardon if sWt was only 
compliant in the matter of religion. Cecily had 
begun to hope that the queen’s clemency would 
be extended to her without this, for she knew 
Lady Jane too well to imagine that she would 
violate her conscience to save her life; she was 
too well instructed in the principles of the 
Protestant faith to believe in the sophistries 
of the mass. 

The Beauchamp Tower was the prison allotted 
to all State captives, and here the Duke of 
Northumberland, Jane’s father-in-law, had spent 
the last days of his life ; but a little leniency 
had been shown to Lady Jane, although she 
was not allowed to see her husband. Instead 
of the actual prison rooms, she had been con- 
fined to the warder’s house, who, being a humane 
man, allowed her as much liberty as he dared. 
She seems to have taken meals with him and 
his family, and to have been treated with every 


The Qiiee7i's Breach of Promise. \cfj 

mark of honor and respect. It would, indeed, 
be difficult to imagine how any one could treat 
otherwise this beautiful, gentle, pious lady. 

Cecily was so overcome on seeing her in 
Warder Partridge's humble rooms, that she 
burst into tears, and she whom she had come 
to comfort had to soothe and comfort her 
instead. 

“ Come, come, Cecily, I am not in such 
evil case now as our dear mistress. Queen 
Catharine. Dost thou remember that night 
when the king and queen were at Whitehall, 
and one pitched up in the gallery the bill of at- 
tainder against the queen, with the king's signa- 
ture already affixed to the mandate for her 
arrest } " 

‘‘ O, shall I ever forget that night, or the con- 
sternation of the queen when she heard all that 
infamous plot For it was not only herself, 
but you, and my Lady Tyrwhitt, and Lady 
Herbert, that Gardiner also aimed at.'’ 

Yes, if it had not been for the prudent gen- 
tleness of the queen in appealing to the king, 
we might all have shared the fate of her other 
gentlewoman, Anne Askew. I have of late 
thought much of Mistress Anne," Concluded 
Lady Jane with something of a sigh. 

‘‘ Many times have you thought of that noble 


Cecily. 


198 

and courageous lady, I doubt not,” said Cecily ; 

but I fear that few will be found to folloVv her 
example. This is not the age of martyrs, for 
men’s minds have been so taken up of late with 
making the best of both worlds that they have 
grown to love this too well to exchange it even 
for a better.” 

‘‘Nay, Cecily, we cannot tell — we do not 
know,” said the Lady Jane gently. 

“But I know that the mass is set up again 
in most places, and people go to church now, as 
they did before, because it is fashionable,” said 
Cecily. 

“ I would not say tliat, Cecily,” replied Lady 
Jane. “ Many of them will, doubtless, go, for 
fear it should bring trouble upon them if they 
stay away ; but to many who have heard the 
English service so long, and learned the Lord’s 
Prayer and Apostles’ Creed — to them the old 
idolatrous service can never be the same that it 
was in those older days when they knew not 
the meaning of a word that was spoken. Now, 
when the Paternoster is repeated, they can join 
silently in it with the ‘ Our Father,’ and so 
even the mass will help them to rise up to God 
sometimes.” 

“Yes, I can believe all that,” remarked Ce- 
cily, “but still — still I am disappointed. O 


The Queen's B 7 'each of Promise, 199 

Jane, Jane, if only things might be as we wish ! 
but now I fear our noble Reformation will be 
swept quite away, and we shall all be subjects 
of the Pope again ! '' 

'' Dear Cecily, you are laying a burden upon 
yourself that you have no strength to carry* 
Cannot you trust God to take care of this work, 
even as he took care of us when our cruel 
enemies plotted to take our lives and that of 
our most noble mistress and queen ? Believe 
me, it was not chance that caused Wriothesley 
to drop those papers in the gallery, or that one 
of our friends found them and brought them 
to the queen. No, no, Cecily ; God will take 
care of us so long as we are needed here, and 
the Reformation, too ; and if by our death more 
good can be done than by our life, he will not 
spare to take us. But now tell me how the 
queen’s grace fareth. A crown of gems is often 
lined with thorns, Cecily ; and few can know 
how sharp they prick but those who wear it.” 

Well, as you know, my royal mistress was 
often subject to distressing headaches, which, I 
think, have been more frequent of late,” said 
Cecily. 

And my cousin Elizabeth — I fear I have 
greatly offejided her by what was no act of mine, 
but the doing of others,” said Lady Jane. 

13 


200 


Cecily. 


** I fear the Lady Elizabeth is displeased with 
the Protestant leaders for passing her over in 
their search for a Protestant queen,” answered 
Cecily. 

‘‘Nay, nay, she should not be displeased at 
that, but rather be thankful that she was spared 
being drawn unto death. She \j(ill be queen yet, 
I doubt not. Give her my poor love and duty, 
and bid her live for the Protestant faith, as I 
shall die for it. We might have exchanged 
places in this, if she had been chosen for a nine 
days' masque queen — unless — unless the queen 
should marry and have children. Have you 
heard ought of this, Cecily.^” asked Lady Jane. 

“ I have heard it whispered that the queen 
will wed the Prince of Spain,” said Cecily. 

“ The Prince of Spain ! her cousin ! — then God 
defend the realm of England, if that cruel man 
comes here,” exclaimed Jane ; and this news 
seemed to arouse her more than any thing else 
she had heard. 

Cecily begged her not to talk of it to Master 
Partridge, or any of his family, as it was only 
a secret whispered among the queen's ladies 
at present ; but there was certainly some truth 
in the rumor, for the Spanish embassador had 
been with the queen so often of late. ^ She took 
her leave soon after this, glad to escape without 


The Queen's Breach of Promise, 20 1 

a word being said about the coming coronation. 
Poor Lady Jane would hear enough about it in 
a few days, for the queen was coming to the 
Tower a day or two before, in order to pass 
through the city, that her loyal and liberal sub- 
jects might see her. 

Mary was very popular just now, and the 
citizens had given a substantial proof of their 
loyalty by lending her twenty thousand pounds 
to pay the expenses of her coronation. If Ce- 
cily and a few others had only had the handling 
of this money, it would not have passed to the 
queen’s coffers until some substantial guarantee 
had been, given that there should be no further 
changes made in religion ; but no one dreamed 
of the tragic years that were immediately to 
follow, or that their beloved princess would ever 
become the cruel persecutor she did. 

Cecily’s next visit was to the Fleet, and here 
she met with a very different reception from 
that which Master Partridge had accorded her. 
A more brutal man than Babington, warden of 
this prison, it would be difficult to find. He 
was rather more civil when he heard she was 
one of the queen’s maids, but he looked at her 
very keenly and suspiciously when she asked 
to be taken to Dr. Hooper. 

‘‘ And pray, mistress, do you know that this 


202 Cecily. 

is a hot Gospeler and a most pestilent heretic 
said Babington. 

I know he was chaplain to my Lord Som- 
erset, and a most godly man,” said Cecily, and, 
gathering courage, she went on : ''I came not 
here to bandy words with you, Master Babing- 
ton, but to see the good bishop ; therefore lead 
the way without further parley.” 

Cecily had taken care to bring her train of 
servants in sight, and Babington, like all bullies 
and cowards, quailed before the courageous bear- 
ing of the woman who could travel with such a ret- 
inue, and under the protection of the royal livery, 
too. Without another word, he led her to the 
damp, dark, foul-smelling prison room where 
Bishop Hooper was confined. 

The haughty maid of honor had vanished as 
Babington closed the door, and Cecily’s first act 
was to kneel at the prisoner’s feet and ask his 
blessing ; and, although he knew not why she 
came, or whether he had ever seen her before, 
he had little doubt but that she was one who 
might soon be called upon to endure persecu- 
tion for the Gospel’s sake ; and so, in a voice 
trembling with earnestness and emotion, he 
raised his hands and said, May the Lord in 
his mercy grant you, and all the godly, grace 
to suffer with patience and fortitude all you 


The Queen '’s Breach of Promise. 203 

may be called upon to endure for the Gospel's 
sake." 

Little less than an angel of light must Cecily 
have seemed to the bishop in his cold, desolate 
prison, for she had brought a letter from his 
wife, and some material comforts to lighten his 
affliction. She had likewise been told to notice 
the furniture with which he was supplied, and 
so, while he stood near the window reading his 
precious letter, she took the opportunity of ex- 
amining the bed, and found it to be a mere pad 
of straw and a dirty tick with a few feathers in 
it. Hooper was not without friends in London, 
for while he was chaplain to the unfortunate lord 
protector he had endeared himself to many by 
his zeal and earnestness, as well as by his sim- 
ple, pious life. He may be looked upon as the 
first dissenter, for his long residence in Geneva 
made him wish to go further than any of the 
other bishops in the matter of reform, and 
when he was presented with the bishopric of 
Gloucester he at first refused to accept it be- 
cause of the form of oath required at his conse- 
cration, and the wearing the robes — the Aaron- 
ical habits," he called them. But, in spite of 
these scruples. Hooper was much beloved by 
many, and they determined to help him, and 
Cecily had been their messenger. 


204 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XV. 


WEARISOME SPLENDOR. 

HE queen’s coronation was a matter of 



J- deep thought to all those specially en- 
gaged in arranging its various details ; for she 
was the first queen regnant since the Saxon con- 
quest, and whether any of the known precedents 
could be departed from in the ordering of her 
apparel was a most puzzling question. Doubt- 
less, if a male heir could have been discovered 
in the royal family, the two princesses would 
have been passed over on the score of their 
mothers* divorce ; but, look which way they 
would, none but heiresses presented them- 
selves, and the next after Elizabeth was Mary 
of Scotland, now betrothed to the dauphin of 
France. The merchants and political econo- 
mists were specially anxious that the kingdom 
should not fall into her hands, for, if it did, 
it would merely sink into an appendage of the 
French crown, and that meant ruin to its com- 
merce and importance. 

These political considerations, both before 
and after the coronation, occupied the minds of 


Wearisome Splendor, 


205 


many much more than the religious struggle 
that was going on. There was a riot at Paul’s 
Cross, and frequent struggles for the possession 
of a church and its pulpit, but most of the 
citizens regarded these as the quarrels of a few 
priests and bishops. Gardiner, the lord chan- 
cellor, and Bonner, just created bishop of Lon- 
don in place of Ridley, had been imprisoned 
during part of King Edward’s reign, and it was 
but natural that they should make the Reform- 
ers feel that they were not going to have it 
quite all their own way ; so they shrugged their 
shoulders, and talked of the revival of trade, and 
wondered who the queen would marry. They 
discussed, also, the important matter of the coro- 
nation, whether the queen should be arrayed 
in spurs and sword, as a king would be. It is 
certainly indicative of the spirit of the age, and 
the combativeness of our forefathers, that these 
insignia could not be dispensed with ; and so 
the queen was crowned ^Gn all particulars like 
unto the king of England.” 

Having decided what the queen ought to do, 
the citizens next had to make their own prep- 
arations for the royal progress through the city, 
from the Tower to Whitehall. On this occasion 
she wore a gown of blue velvet, furred with 
ermine, and on her head was a caul of gold net- 


2o6 


Cecily. 


work, adorned with pearls and precious stones, 
the weight of which was so great that she had 
to hold up her head with her hand. 

Cecily, who rode behind the royal sisters, 
dressed in crimson satin, knew that not only was 
the weight of this gold uncomfortable, but that 
her mistress also suffered from one of her vio- 
lent headaches ; and most deeply did she pity 
the royal sufferer as the grand procession moved 
on ; for Jhe pageants prepared were so nu- 
merous, and the stoppages so freqiftnt, that it 
seemed as though they made no progress at all. 
In Fenchurch-street they listened to orations 
from four great giants ; in Gracechurch-street 
to a solo on a trumpet from a great angel in 
green — the Tudor color. At St. Paul’s School the 
queen’s favorite poet and player. Hey wood, sat 
under a vine, and delivered an oration mostly in 
derision of the Reformed faith. At St. Paul’s, 
Peter, the Dutchman, was playing gymnastics 
on the weathercock at the top ; but by the time 
this was over the shades of evening compelled 
them to hurry past most of the other wonderful 
sights, greatly to Cecily’s relief, who knew that 
the queen must be suffering agonies in all this 
noise and din. 

They had left the Tower at three o’clock in 
the afternoon, but it was nearly dark before they 


Wearisome Splendor, 20/ 

reached Whitehall, where the queen was to rest 
for the night, in preparation for the wearisome 
and tedious ceremony of the following day. Of 
course, there was plenty of feasting and drink- 
ing, and after the city conduits had spouted 
their wines for a few hours, and men's tongues 
got loose, the speedy downfall of the new re- 
ligion was freely talked of, and the Gospelers 
threatened with imprisonment and burning as 
soon as the new Parliament could meet to re- 
vive Gardiner’s act of the '' Six Articles.” A few 
talked more quietly, but shook their heads more 
ominously over the one departure from precedent 
in the coronation, that the Archbishop of Can- 
terbury did not perform the ceremony, and many 
agreed that the queen’s reign would prove most 
disastrous from this fact. So superstitious were 
the best of people in that age. 

Some few indulged the hope that, the Tower 
being left unguarded, the Protestants would res- 
cue the archbishop, Cranmer, with his compan- 
ions, Latimer and Ridley, and, once out of this 
fortress-prison, they could soon make good their 
escape to the Continent. Indeed, some few 
hoped they would do this by themselves ; for 
they had a fair chance of escape now, which 
they might never have again. But it was found 
the next day that the three heroic leaders had 


208 


Cecily. 


not fled from their posts, and they were not 
likely to do so now. 

Some few hoped that, as the embassadors of 
Cleves were present at the coronation, in spite 
of the change in religion, some assurance had 
been given the Protestant States concerning 
these prisoners, but the usual free pardon, when 
it came to be known in its entirety, made so 
many exceptions that it seemed but a mockery. 
Not one of the Protestants now in prison was 
to be released, but the Flemish embassadors 
must be treated with all honor because of the 
commercial relations of the two countries. The 
change of religion was constantly before men’s 
eyes now, for the processions of priests and 
monks through the streets were almost of daily 
occurrence, and denunciations of the Protest- 
ants were hurled from the old stone pulpit at 
Paul’s Cross, where, only a short time before, 
the sermons of Ridley and Latimer had been 
listened to with rapt attention by their thought- 
ful hearers. 

Of course, the new order of things pleased 
the thoughtless and frivolous. There were more 
holidays now that the saints’ days were to be ob- 
served again, and there was fun in being richly 
dressed to take part in the processions and 
mystery plays that often took the place of the 


Wearisome Splendor, 


209 


preaching of the Gospel. Then there was more 
to see and criticise at church, where they could 
discuss the millinery of the altar, the dresses of 
the Virgin and saints, and the richly embroidered 
capes of the priests. Altogether, the ’prentice 
lads liked the change, for they could go out to 
practice archery on Sunday, at Moorfields, or 
the Butts in Finsbury, and for the more riotous 
there was always a bear-baiting at Southwark, 
or some other sport going forward. Meanwhile 
the picked Parliament met, where Gardiner 
reigned supreme, and some of its first acts were 
to repeal the laws of Edward VI. for the estab- 
lishment of the Protestant Church of England. 
Convocation met, too, for the settlement of re- 
ligion, but Gardiner had taken care to strike 
the '‘head deer” of the flock first, and though 
the few left bravely made a bold defense, what 
could they do in the face of the overwhelming 
odds against them } 

Early in December Cecily came to the Aid- 
gate parsonage again, being brought there in a 
litter by her servants at her own request, for 
she was very ill, and the queen had given her 
permission to retire for a few months to recruit 
her health. 

Martin Scrope was improving in health, but 
not as rapidly as the doctor said he ought ; but 


210 


Cecily. 


still Mildred was glad to receive her friend into 
her home, and was sufficiently at liberty to give 
her some little attention. 

“ What is it, Cecily ? — how long have you 
been ill ? asked Mildred. She had tried to 
live apart from the outside world lately, and to 
keep all knowledge of it from her husband, and 
she had succeeded to a great extent, so that 
Cecily's passionately reproachful ‘‘ Can you ask, 
Mildred, after all that has happened ? " some- 
what surprised her. Gossip Mildred never en- 
couraged, and those were not the days of news- 
papers ; so that events of the greatest impor- 
tance might be going on, and people around 
know nothing of them. 

But how such important facts as the attainder 
and trial of Lady Jane Grey and her husband, 
and of the Archbishop of Canterbury, could es- 
cape Mildred’s knowledge was a puzzle to Ce- 
cily, and she felt inclined to resent her friend’s 
entire absorption in her home cares, until she 
saw how deeply she was moved. 

‘‘Yes, she is condemned — my dear, dear 
friend ! ” said Cecily, with another burst of sobs. 
“ O Mildred, the queen might spare her — she 
would if she loved her now as she once did, and 
her good citizens of London would be pleased, 
too, for crowds followed her from Guildhall, cry- 


Wearisome Splendor. 


211 


ing and groaning at the thoughts of such a sweet 
girl being burned or beheaded.” 

Burned or beheaded ! ” exclaimed Mildred ; 
surely you cannot mean it, my dear.” 

‘‘ Indeed, indeed, it is true ! Some of them 
about the court hope and believe that the queen 
will yet pardon her ; but I — I am afraid to 
hope.” 

‘‘ Cecily, dear, I am afraid it is this that has 
made you ill ; you have given up all hope in 
God, and man, too.” 

I am afraid I have,” sighed Cecily ; but 
you would not wonder at it if you knew how 
dark and threatening every thing looks. The 
Parliament has passed that dreadful act of the 
‘Six Articles;' the Lady Jane Grey is con- 
demned to death ; most of our Protestant bish- 
ops are in prison. It is almost dangerous to 
dare to stay away from mass now, and if the 
queen marries the Prince of Spain we shall have 
the Inquisition established here as it is in Spain.” 

“ But, Cecily, are you sure the queen intends 
to marry the Prince of Spain ? I have heard 
it was to be Courtenay, the Duke of Devonshire, 
or that the Pope would dissolve the vows of Car- 
dinal Pole, that she might wed him. You see 
I have heard something of court affairs,” added 
Mildred with a smile. 


212 


Cecily. 


‘‘ Yes, Gardiner has caused the story to be 
circulated that both he and the Parliament 
would favor either as a husband for the queen ; 
but I know that she has promised the Spanish 
embassador that she will wed Prince Philip ; 
and, having made up her mind about this, not 
even Gardiner can persuade her to give it up, I 
know. O Mildred, I wish you had gone away, 
for I am afraid dark days are coming ! ” 

‘‘ My dear, I think it is partly your health. 
You have fretted and made yourself anxious 
about this matter, as though God had given up 
his throne to Queen Mary and her lord chancel- 
lor. Now, my dear, you must try to be quiet 
— try to believe that God can carry on the 
work of the world without you or me, Cecily, 
and— and that some work is better done where 
it seems to be undone.” 

But Cecily could not see any gleam of hope. 
To her short-seeing eyes the Reformation was 
ruined and undone, now that the mass was 
every-where set up. She also had had the pain 
of seeing several of her own dear friends among 
the queen’s ladies, who were formerly ear- 
nest Protestants, now going openly to mass 
and among these was her dear friend, Lady 
Cecil. 

Lady Cecil’s defection had been the last straw 


Wearisome Splendor, 213 

to poor Cecily’s already overburdened heart, 
and she had completely broken down ; but she 
took care to hide her friend’s fall from Mildred, 
although she could not help thinking of it a 
good deal herself. Her illness, it seemed, was 
not entirely due to fretting and anxiety, but 
proved to be an attack of ague ; and as her fa- 
ther had left London on a mission to France, 
Mildred decided that it would be better for Ce- 
cily to remain with her rather than undertake 
a journey into the country at this season of 
the year, and in her present weak condition. 
Of course, her old nurse, Gillian, and her maid 
had come with her, and these two Mildred 
found were difii4iult to please, and much more 
exacting than their mistress. They found fault 
with every thing — the size of the chambers, 
the rushes on the floor, the plain cloth hangings 
on the walls, even to Deborah’s personal ap- 
pearance and behavior : all these came in for a 
share in the general grumbling. 

Gillian felt herself specially aggrieved, because 
she was certain her young mistress was hiding 
something from her — that she must have some 
secret and powerful reason for not going to Lady 
Cecil’s house, where the accommodation would 
be so much better in every way, and where Gil- 
lian herself could find companionship among 


214 


Cecily. 


some of the upper and older servants of Sir 
William’s household. What could possess her 
young mistress to come and bury herself in the 
household of a poor priest was beyond Gillian’s 
comprehension. It had been all very well for 
the baronet’s daughter to patronize the squire’s 
daughter — the squire’s family were almost the 
only neighbors they could speak to in the coun- 
try ; but to continue the friendship here in Lon- 
don— to come and visit them upon terms of 
equality — well, Dame Gillian came to the con- 
clusion that this Reformation was just turning 
the world upside down. 

A few days later, and the good dame was still 
more astonished ; for, as she s^ at the lattice 
overlooking the street, she saw a train of serv- 
ants coming up the street, and amused herself 
by describing their liveries and armorial bear- 
ings to Cecily, who was lying on a couch in 
the room. 

“ Why, nurse, it is the badge of the Bran- 
dons ; surely it cannot be that the Lady Jane 
is released! ” exclaimed Cecily, trying to sit up. 

Be still, child, be quiet ; for the lady, who- 
ever she is, is coming here — it is not the Lady 
Jane Grey, though,” added old Gillian, peering 
down into the street to see all that could be 


seen. 


215 


Wearisome Splendor, 

‘‘ No, no, of course not ; I am very foolish,” 
said Cecily, lying back on her pillows ; but 
tears of disappointment rose to her eyes at the 
quenching of this momentary hope. 

‘‘ No, it is not the Lady Jane, but some one — 
a lad)^ much older,” went on Gillian. 

“ Can it be ! I wonder whether it is the 
Duchess of Suffolk — Lady Jane’s step-gran- 
dame } ” 

''What, the lady there is such a talk about 
at court — who is going to marry a plain gentle- 
man without title, because he is as hot a Gos- 
peler as Bishop Ridley himself! ” exclaimed Gil- 
lian. 

" Mr. Birtie is a learned and accomplished 
gentleman, as well as a devout and thorough 
Protestant,” responded Cecily ; " and I am glad 
the good duchess is going to marry him. But I 
wonder — ” Cecily had no time to express her 
wonder, for the next minute the door was opened, 
and Mildred ushered in the Duchess of Suffolk 
herself. The noble-hearted lady, who had 
nursed through his last illness, and closed with 
her own hands, the dying eyes of Martin Bucer, 
because he was a foreigner and a Protestant, 
could not pass the door of her tenant. Master 
Scrope, when she heard that he was ill and 

might be in need of some assistance. She knew 
14 


2I6 


Cecily. 


that he was one of the Protestant clergy — and, 
although she had passed his house many times 
before without thinking of paying him a visit, 
she could not do so now. 

Gardiner might boast that he had cut off the 
head deer” of the flock, but the rest were not 
scattered. No, no ; they were only being driven 
closer together — closer to each other and closer 
to God. The rank and titles and distinctions 
of earth were all being forgotten now, and they 
were grasping hands in the one faith, the one 
hope, of the Gospel. The duchess knew Cecily, 
and when she heard from Mildred — who thought 
the duchess had come to visit her guest — that 
Cecily was ill, she at once asked to be shown to 
her chamber. 

Gillian withdrew when the ladies entered,, 
and Mildred would have done the same had not 
the duchess desired her to stay, as she had come 
to see her husband^ not knowing that Mistress 
Temple was there. 

Then, turning to Cecily, she said, ** How is 
it you are not with my Lady Cecil now. Mistress 
Temple ? ” 

Cecily raised her eyes and looked keenly at the 
duchess, who at once understood what she meant. 
“ I know, I know ! ” she whispered ; but, child, 
you must not be hard on Mildred Cecil — Sir 


Wearisome Splendor, 217 

Anthony Cooke’s daughters can never cor- 
dially turn to popish idolatry. You must be 
patient, and have charity even for those who 
sink in the day of trial. They don’t do it will- 
ingly, and we know not the strenght of their 
temptations ! ” Then she asked in a louder tone 
if Cecily had seen her granddaughter, the Lady 
Jane Grey lately, and how it fared with good 
Master Latimer, in whose welfare she had always 
taken a great interest. Then she went to Mar- 
tin’s chamber, and inquired into the particulars 
of his accident, and whether he had been able to 
make any provision for these dark days, as she 
knew he had been expelled from his living. At 
leaving she told Mildred she should not expect 
any rent to be paid for the house — it was a de- 
tached portion of her mansion of the Minories ; 
but that, if she could shelter any of the dis- 
tressed brethren she should like her to do it, as 
the rent charge of the house. 

Gillian flew to the lattice to see the duchess 
depart, exclaiming as she did so : Well, this is 
the strangest thing of all, and what I might say 
is true as the Gospel, that this Reformation is 
just turning the world upside down.” 


2I8 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

BLACK-MONDAY. 

HE visit to the Duchess of Suffolk certainly 



J- did Cecily good, for she was now more 
hopeful of the queen's granting a pardon to her 
friend, Lady Jane Grey ; forgetting that the 
duchess was in disgrace on account of her 
marriage. 

I think I can guess what has brought her 
grace to London just now,” she said, when 
Mildred came to sit with her. ‘‘ She has come 
to remind the queen of the warm friendship 
which always existed between her mother and 
Queen Catharine of Arragon, and that they are 
now the only two Spanish ladies in England.” 

“Is the duchess a Spanish lady ” asked 
Mildred. “ I have always heard that she was 
such an earnest Protestant.” 

“Yes, she is; but still she is as much a 
Spaniard as our queen. Her mother was Mary 
of Salines, who came ffom Spain with the Prin- 
cess Catharine, and she was the faithful friend 
of the poor queen through all her troubles. 
Their daughters exchanged names, the duchess 


Black-Monday, 


219 


being named Catharine, after the queen, and 
the young princess Mary, after the favorite 
maid of honor.” 

“And now the duchess is a most thorough 
Protestant, in spite of her Spanish descent and 
the traditions of her family and early educa- 
tion ! ” exclaimed Mildred. 

“Yes, like Anne Askew, the duchess has 
embraced the new faith from her own convic- 
tions of its truth. But I wonder whether the 
queen will be moved by the duchess’ appeal. 
I feel sure she has been, or is going, to the 
queen ; and she will plead for Bishop Latimer, 
too, I know. Mildred, have you told Martin 
of the change in religion } ” suddenly asked 
Cecily. 

“ I have been obliged to tell him something 
of it ; for he asked me one day if the mass had 
not been set up again, and when I answered 
yes, he said, ^ I knew it — have known it all 
along, although you have been trying to hide it 
from me.* ” 

“ O Mildred, it would have been better to 
have told him at first, and have made your 
escape,” said Cecily. 

I am not sure about that dear. If every 
body thought only of their own safety and ran 
away — well, that would be impossible, you know, 


220 


Cecily. 


for there would certainly be some who, because 
of poverty and other reasons, could not go ; and 
so, for the sake of these, we cannot all run away 
from England.” 

A few days afterward, however, Mildred began 
to think that Cecily might be right after all ; for 
her friend Dame Amy Taylor, whose husband 
was rector of St. Leonard’s in East Chepe. came 
to her in great trouble ; for an order had been 
issued forbidding any married priest to take any 
part in divine service. Master Taylor, although 
a Protestant at heart, had conformed to the new 
order of things, abolished the English service, 
and set up the altar and mass ; but it had not 
availed him much, for he had now been, served 
with an inhibition from the bishop, and was not 
to officiate in his own church again. 

It seems a pity that he ever wounded his 
conscience by conforming at all,” said Mildred, 
who was inwardly wondering whether this would 
be the only blow aimed at the married clergy. 

I am afraid the worst of this persecution is 
yet to come,” sighed Dame Taylor, as if in an- 
swer to Mildred’s thoughts. '' Have you heard 
that there are more than sixty Protestants now 
in prison ? ” 

I am afraid Dame Scrope has shut herself 
up out of all knowledge of the actual state of 


Black-Monday, 221 

things,” said Cecily, in whose chamber they were 
sitting. 

O, it is very dreadful. Dame Grafton, the 
printer's wife, came to see Master Taylor yester- 
day. Her husband is still in prison, and she 
knows not what to do. She hoped that at the 
coronation, when the general pardon was pro- 
claimed, he and Master Whitchurch would be 
released, but there were so many exceptions 
made this time as never was heard of before.” 

‘‘ What is their offense ? ” asked Cecily. 

‘‘ They are Protestants, and have printed the 
Bibles and other Protestant books.” 

I don’t think a single Protestant was re- 
leased at the coronation. All other offenses 
against law and order were forgiven, but not 
that of unbelief in the mass,” said Cecily. 

But if we are all to be imprisoned for not 
believing that— -and few do believe it as they 
once did — what will be the end of this ? ” asked 
Mildred. 

Dame Taylor shook her head. ^'We have 
seen but the beginning as yet, and even now 
we are all liable to be imprisoned, it seems.” 

I am afraid we are all sadly forgetting 
Protestant faith in our fear,” said Mildred, 
We forget that God cares for us as tenderly 
as we care for our little children. Do you re- 


222 


Cecily. 


member telling me this one day, Cecily. I have 
never forgotten it, and when I begin to feel 
afraid now, I whisper to myself I am God's little 
child ; I cannot understand what he is doing any 
more than my little ones can understand the 
meaning of a good deal that goes on around 
them every day; and I have to believe, too, 
that God can sometimes do better without our 
help in saving the world. We have lived in 
such a fuss and drive-going to hear sermons at 
Paul's Cross, then to read in the churches and 
teach the little ones ‘ Our Father ' and the 
‘ Credo,' that we have begun to think we are 
going to save the world, and have thought more 
of Master Ridley and Latimer, and what they 
taught, than of God himself.” 

“ But I don't understand you. Don't you 
think God means us to do all we can to save 
our fellow-men } ” asked Dame Taylor. 

‘‘Yes, yes, indeed I do ; and I think we have 
tried to do it ; but we have been so anxious and 
careful, as though we loved the world better 
than God himself does, though he gave his Son 
to die for it. We have sometimes acted as 
though God did not care at all — as though he 
were not to be trusted to take care of the Prot- 
estant Church of England. What was it but 
this fear — this forgetfulness of God’s love — that 


Black-Mo7tday, 


223 


made many good men, like Master Ridley, so 
anxious to take the choice of a queen into 
their own hands ? and poor Lady Jane is the in- 
nocent victim.” 

Cecily could only look at her friend in silent 
amazement as she said this. Could this be the 
Mildred who was almost paralyzed with fear at 
the thought of trial — yet, now that it had really 
come, speaking like this } They were no vain 
words, either, she knew ; for she went about 
her household duties in the same spirit of calm 
trust ; so that Martin had told her he only felt 
able to rest and be at peace when he saw his 
dear wife’s calm, placid face, and that, gazing at 
her, he seemed to catch something of her trust- 
fulness. Truly it was wonderful to Cecily, but 
it helped her to believe that if God could thus 
uphold one soul in the midst of such trials, 
surely he could take care of the work of the 
world, although every power of the earth now 
seemed fighting against it. 

Cecily often wished she could be as calm and 
restful as her friend now was, for both she and 
Martin Scrope constantly tormented themselves 
with fears and anxieties as to what the next 
day or hour might bring upon them. Doubt- 
less their feeble state of health had something to 
do with this, and this wearing fear reacted on 


224 


Cecily. 


their health, and prevented their entire recovery ; 
so that they both remained invalids during the 
whole winter. 

The town talk now was nothing but the 
queen’s projected marriage with the Prince of 
Spain ; and there was scarce a citizen but felt 
himself called upon to say his word against it. 
She would deliver the nation over to foreign 
bondage, said some. We shall sink into an 
appanage of Spain, and lose our place among 
the nations of Europe,” grumbled others ; while 
the fear of many more was, that with Philip 
would be introduced the hated Inquisition, to 
suppress the Reformed faith. One Parliament 
had been dismissed because they opposed the 
queen’s wishes in this matter, and Gardiner 
himself fell into disgrace, too, for the whole na- 
tion were united in opposing this marriage ; but 
nothing could turn the queen from her purpose. 
At last another mad scheme was attempted in 
the name of Protestantism, with the avowed ob- 
ject of dethroning the queen and placing the 
Princess Elizabeth in her place. 

With an infatuation almost incredible, con- 
sidering that his daughter was still a prisoner 
in the Tower, the Duke of Suffolk was one of the 
ringleaders, and attempted to raise a rebellion 
in the midland counties, while Sir Thomas 


Black-Monday, 225 

Wyatt led the men of Kent. By the time they 
had reached Deptford Wyatt was at the head of 
fifteen thousand men ; and here he demanded 
that the queen and her council should be given 
to his custody. The Spanish embassadors had 
been obliged to take to flight the moment the 
marriage treaty had been signed ; but the ar- 
ticles of this treaty were pretty well known — the 
most obnoxious of which was, that Philip of 
Spain was to aid Mary in the government of 
her kingdom, and this the bold men of Kent 
resented as an attempt to force them under a 
foreign yoke. 

The rebel demands not being complied with, 
they marched forward and attempted to besiege 
London. The consternation of the citizens was 
something unheard of, and all day long was a 
stream of wagons and tumbrels laden with house- 
hold stuff and merchandise passing through the 
eastern gate near the Scropes’ house, while 
crowds of people followed, crying and groaning 
at having to turn out of their homes in mid- 
winter, and seek a shelter they knew not where. 

Martin was able to move about the house on 
crutches now, and began to think he had better 
follow his neighbors’ example, and try to take 
his family to Edendale for safety, when news 
came that the rebels had turned away from 


226 


Cecily. 


London bridge, and that the Duke of Norfolk 
was rallying his forces to meet them in open 
battle. At the same time came the news that 
the insurrection under Suffolk had been put 
down, and the duke taken prisoner. Some said 
he had proclaimed his daughter as Queen Jane 
in several towns ; but whether this was so or not, 
Cecily feared that by his rashness he had sealed 
the doom of his daughter and her husband. 

The fate of Wyatt and his brave followers was 
of secondary importance now that her dear 
friend’s fate trembled in the balance, and when 
news came that the rebels had made their way 
to Westminster and were laying siege to the 
palace, it did not seem to Cecily that her friends 
there could be in such danger as that lonely 
girl in the Tower, who, probably, knew nothing 
of what was going forward, but for which she 
would probably have to suffer. 

A few hours of painful anxiety, and then came 
the news that the rebels had been beaten ; their 
leaders and many others taken prisoners, and 
the rest dispersed. Men could breathe more 
freely now, and joke about the danger that was 
past, but Cecily’s anxiety grew intense as to the 
probable fate of the prisoners in the Tower. The 
Duke of Suffolk was now in the same prison as 
his daughter. His fate was certain, but still 


Black-Monday. 


227 


the queen would surely pardon the innocent 
girl in whose name so much wrong had been 
done. Yes, Cecily admitted to herself that it 
was wrong to attempt to dethrone Queen Mary, 
for most of her subjects looked upon her as 
their rightful sovereign, and they could not 
break their allegiance to her without doing 
violence to their own conscience ; and in the 
estimation of many, even among the Protest- 
ants, such an act would be a violation of the 
constitution of the land, and the opening of the 
flood-gates of anarchy and civil war. But while 
Cecily admitted this to herself, she could not 
help wishing that somehow, in some way, the 
people could have a voice in the election of their 
sovereign rulers, and then things w^ould be so 
different ! 

Cecily was not long kept in suspense concern- 
ing Lady Jane Grey. On the eighth of F'ebru- 
ary, 1554, one of Lady Jane's servants came to 
tell Mistress Temple that the queen's confessor 
had been that day to inform her beloved mis- 
tress that she was to die by the headsman's ax 
the next morning. Although Cecily had been 
expecting some such message, it came so sud- 
denly at last that she fell back fainting, and it 
was some time before she could be restored to 


consciousness. 


228 


Cecily. 


Mistress Tylney, Lady Jane’s maid, sat weep- 
ing by her side when she again opened her 
eyes, and that brought back to Cecily’s mind 
the cruel tidings she had heard ; but she did 
not faint again. ‘‘ Tell me all, and then go back 
to her,” she whispered feebly. 

My angelic mistress was far less affected at 
the tidings than you or I — for she has long 
looked forward to this ending, and no other,” 
said the weeping maid ; “ Master Fechenham 
talked long with her on the evil of heresy, and 
has promised to obtain a reprieve from the queen 
to give her time to repent of her errors ; but 
my Lady Jane has no desire for this now.” 

I believe if she would profess herself a 
Roman Catholic the queen would grant her a 
pardon even now,” said Cecily. 

“ She never will do that ; for she has written 
a sharp letter to Dr. Harding, blaming him for 
going to mass.” 

‘‘ No, I am sure the Lady Jane is too sincere 
a Protestant, and too truthful a Christian, to 
save her life by dissimulation ; but still, if she 
were to profess herself a Catholic the queen 
could have no excuse for putting her to death. 
Now she will, doubtless, say it is necessary for 
the stability of her throne, since she has been 
put forward as the hope of the Protestants.” 


Black-Monday. 


229 


“ But it is the Princess Elizabeth this time,” 
said Mistress Tylney ; ‘‘ and I hear she is ex- 
pected at the Tower.” 

'' The Princess Elizabeth to be imprisoned ! ” 
exclaimed Cecily. Had she any thing to do 
with the late insurrection ?” 

No more than my beloved mistress had with 
proclaiming herself queen. But I may not stay 
talking longer. I am anxious to be with the 
Lady Jane,’’ said Mistress Tylney, rising. 

But Lady Jane was not executed the next morn- 
ing. F'echenham obtained a reprieve for three 
days, and during this time the queen sent not 
only her own confessor, but several other Roman 
Catholic priests, to dispute with her on the 
genuineness of the faith in which she had been 
educated ; but no Protestant was allowed to go 
near her. Lady Jane begged to be allowed to 
spend the few remaining hours of her life in 
private devotion, and preparation for the last 
dread scene that awaited her ; but Mary was 
too anxious that she should follow the example 
of her father-in-law, and die professing the 
Romish faith. 

So the last days of her life were harrassed 
with theological disputes, but her faith never 
faltered. Speaking of some of these disputa- 
tions, an old writer says : ‘‘ Divers learned Ro- 


230 Cecily. 

man Catholics — those of the best fame and 
reputation — were sent unto her to dissuade her 
from that true profession of the Gospel which 
from her cradle she had ever held, each striving 
by art, by flattery, by threatening, by promise of 
life, or whatever else might move most strongly 
in the bosom of a weak woman, who should 
become master of so great and worthy a prize ; 
but all their labors were bootless, for she had 
art to confound their art, wisdom to withstand 
their flatteries, resolution above their menaces, 
and such a true knowledge of life that death was 
to her no other than a familiar acquaintance.’' 

These last words certainly seemed to be true, 
for on that dismal Monday morning, when the 
weeping crowd on Tower Hill saw her stand calm 
and unmoved, with her sorrowing maids around 
her, the gentle and beautiful girl looked at the 
grim executioner and his gleaming ax without 
a quiver of fear. A few minutes before she had 
seen her husband pass on his way to execution, 
and as she came to the scaffold she had been 
met by the cart bearing his headless body. •She 
had sent a message to him just before, remind- 
ing him that their separation was almost over, 
and she stood calmly before the terrible mes- 
senger that would in a moment send her to his 
side. 


Black-Mo7tday. 


231 


Her clear, silvery voice could be heard speak- 
ing, but the sobs of the crowd prevented them 
from hearing her first words ; but her voice 
grew stronger as she went on, and the sobs were 
hushed so that they could hear her say, I 
pray you all, good Christian people, to bear me 
witness that I die a true Christian woman, and 
that I look to be saved by none other means 
but only by the mercy of God in the merits 
of the blood of his only Son Jesus Christ ! ” 
Then the sobs broke out afresh, and amid the 
weeping and lamentations of the crowd her 
eyes were bound, and, kneeling down, she 
laid her head upon the block, and the next 
minute had joined her husband in the presence 
of her Saviour. This was the tragedy that in- 
augurated Black-Monday — the name given 
to this day, and long remembered by the citi- 
zens of London. 

15 


232 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

NEWS FROM EDENDALE. 

M ildred feared that the death of Lady 
Jane Grey would be such a severe blow 
to Cecily that she would sink into rapid de- 
cline ; but, to every body's surprise, after the 
first bewildering effects of her grief were over 
she grew more calm and peaceful than she had 
been for months before ; and yet there seemed 
no better outlook for her friends of the Re- 
formed doctrines. 

Early in March a sad procession passed their 
house and through the city gate on its way to 
Oxford. Archbishop Cranmer, with Bishops 
Ridley and Latimer, were taken from the 
Tower, condemned to be burned ; and that the 
whole country might be the more effectually 
warned of the danger incurred by professing 
the Reformed doctrines, they were to be burned 
in different places. 

A few hours after, the stree‘:s having been 
cleared of the sorrowing people who had come 
to look their last at the noble leaders of the 
Reformed faith, Rupert Audley rode through 


News front Edettdale, 233 

the city gate on one of his father’s stout horses, 
and soon made his way to the parsonage. 

Rupert was now a man, thoughtful beyond 
his years, and his father had intrusted him with 
the difficult task of warning his sister of the 
dangers that surrounded her. Mildred had 
succeeded for a time in hiding her trouble from 
those at home. She had told them of Martin’s 
accident, but not a word about his being de- 
prived of his living, or that they now had only 
his small patrimony for their maintenance : not 
a word of that had been mentioned in her home 
letters ; and for a few weeks the Audleys re- 
mained in ignorance of the change in religious 
matters. But at length Father Ambrose, the old 
Catholic priest, who had always retained some 
influence over the people through the confes- 
sional, had boldly presented himself to them as 
their parish priest again. 

Father never had a harder day’s work to do, 
I know, than when the queen’s letter came bid- 
ding him, as justice of the peace, stop all public 
reading of the Scriptures,” said Rupert, as he 
told the story of the change of religion in the 
country. 

‘‘ Poor father ! I never thought of him, and 
how hard it would be for him to reconcile his 
duty to God and his duty to the queen.” 


234 


Cecily. 


“Ah, that was where the shoe pinched, Mil- 
dred ; his sworn duty to the queen's grace to 
maintain peace and order, and the enforcement 
of her commands. At first he said he would 
not do it ; he could not turn out Master Boyne, 
who was to him as a son, and who had preached 
a pure gospel to the parish, and put in an igno- 
rant old hedge priest, who could only mumble 
over the Latin prayers and recite a few legends 
of the saints.” 

“ Turn out Father Boyne ! ” repeated Cecily ; 
“but he is not married, and your father could 
grant him a license to preach.” 

But Rupert shook his head. “ My father is 
no favorite with Father Ambrose or the old 
prior, and the license had been granted before 
the notice came, so that power was taken out 
of his hands.” 

“Where is Father Boyne now.?” asked Mil- 
dred. 

“He left Edendale more than a week ago— 
as soon as the men came from London with the 
new images. I wonder he has not been to see 
you, Mildred .?” 

“ Perhaps he has not come to London, Ru- 
pert. What does my mother say about the 
change .? ” asked his sister anxiously. 

But Rupert shook his head again. “ Don't 


News from Edendale, 


235 


ask, Mildred. It is to please her I’ve come to 
see you now. To tell you the whole truth, I 
have come as a spy,” he added, laughing. 

‘‘ And things are not quite so bad as you 
feared t ” said Mildred, trying to smile. 

“ Well, no. I was truly grateful to see Mar- 
tin hobbling about on his crutches. We knew 
you had been hiding something about these re- 
ligious changes, and mother felt sure that — that 
— there ! I can’t tell you half she has been say- 
ing, and I must make haste home again, and 
tell her she has been frightening herself for 
nothing.” 

‘‘ How do you manage now at Edendale ? ” 
asked Mildred. 

Manage — what about } — going to church ? 
Well, I don’t go, nor Dick either ; but I can see 
Father Ambrose is beginning to notice it. Fa- 
ther has been once ; he felt obliged to go as a 
magistrate ; but mother — poor mother — she goes 
regularly enough, hoping to screen the rest of 
us from the old priest’s displeasure by her per- 
formance of duty.” 

Poor father and mother, it must be hard for 
them to go back to the old Latin prayers that 
they cannot understand, and hear the stories that 
we used to laugh at when we were growing up.” 

I hope you pity us, too — Dick and I — for 


236 


Cecily. 


we shall miss Father Boyne more than any 
body else, I think. He was teaching us all 
sorts of things. I can now read as well as you, 
Mildred, and before they took the Bible away out 
of the church Dick and I used to go up twice 
or three times a week to read to a few of the 
knaves in the village ; they felt shy of Master 
Boyne, but they’d crowd round when we went 
to read.” 

“ And now it is all over,” said Cecily with a 
sigh. 

“Yes, they would not leave the great Bible 
even in father s hands,” said Rupert. “ Now 
you must tell me some London news,” he 
went on, “ for mother will want to hear all 
about every thing when I go home. I fancy 
London must be safer than the country now, 
for there are so many people in the streets the 
bishops can’t know every body.” 

Mildred laughed. “ I suppose we are all apt 
to think we can hide better in another place 
than just where we happen to be. I have 
thought sometimes that in quiet Edendale we 
might escape some troubles that are sure to 
fall upon us here ; but I may be mistaken.” 

“ There is no safety in Edendale now,” said 
Rupert. “ The prior has come back, and sev- 
eral of the monks, and — and — well, there are 


News from Edendale, 237 

strange tales about the priory whispered in the 
village now.” 

What tales } ” asked Cecily. I had some 
thought of journeying'home, if the queen will 
allow me to retire from court.” 

‘‘ Better not, Mistress Temple, unless you are 
prepared to go to mass and give up the priory 
to its former owners ; for that is what the ghost 
wants, it seems.” 

‘‘ The ghost — so they have a ghost at my old 
home now } ” 

‘‘Yes; my father says it is a trick of the 
monks to frighten you into giving up the land 
and going to mass.” 

“Then I think I had better stay in London ; 
for I cannot give up my father's hard-earned 
property ; and I will not go to mass — no, not 
even to please Queen Mary, although I cannot 
help loving her sometimes, in spite of what she 
has done.” 

“ I had some thought of taking Martin to 
Edendale when the weather grew warm, and he 
could journey so far,” said Mildred. 

“ I am afraid to bid you come, Mildred,” said 
her brother ; “ although I know that father 
and mother would be greatly pleased to see 
you.” 

“ And what of Kate V asked Mildred. 


238 


Cecily. 


'' Father has been to see them, and warn 
them against coming, too ; for although it is 
not certain that the monks or Father Ambrose 
could do any thing against her for marrying, 
still their revived influence might make things 
unpleasant, and if danger should come by and 
by they might track her, whereas no one near 
her new home knows that she was ever a 
nun.” 

‘‘It does not seem as though there was a 
shelter to be found anywhere,” said Mildred, 
in a tone of sadness. 

“ Mistress Temple has often urged us to go 
to Flanders, as so many have done ; but I heard 
from Master Kasse yesterday that the people 
there, although they are Protestants, refuse to 
receive or help any that come from England, 
because we differ from them in our belief about 
the sacrament.” 

“ Why, what do they believe asked Rupert. 

“ They hold the Lutheran error of consub- 
stantiation, which to me seems to differ but 
very little from the old one of transubstantiation 
— the doctrine of the sacrifice of the mass. 
Martin says that it is not strange that Luther 
held to this last ray of Romanism, but rather 
that he freed himself so far as he did. Most 
of our teachers and Reformers came from 


News from Edendale. 239 

Geneva, or have learned the doctrine of Zwing- 
lius, which makes the doctrine of the mass 
idolatry. 

Well, I don't know much about these ques- 
tions," said Rupert; ‘‘but if the Church of 
Rome is teaching the truth, as she professes, 
why are the Scriptures taken away as soon as 
she has the power to do it ? This is not fair 
play, and every Englishman likes fair play." 

When Rupert went back to Edendale Cecily's 
maid went with him, to bring some books and 
clothes for her young mistress, with orders that 
one of the serving men should bring her back to 
London. Cecily Temple had made up her mind 
to retire from the service of the queen, since 
she could not retain this post without attend- 
ing mass. Besides, as it now seemed safer to 
stay in London until her father came home 
from France, than to go to Edendale as she had 
once proposed, she resolved to remain with 
Mildred. What she would pay for the accom- 
modation of herself and servants would help 
the family finances, and she might be able to 
help others, too. It was what her dear friend 
Lady Jane would have done had she been so 
fortunate as to be a private gentlewoman ; and 
so Cecily took up this work as though it had 
been bequeathed to her by her friend. 


240 


Cecily. 


Rupert was scarcely a day’s journey from 
London when the blow fell which had so long 
been the nightmare of Dame Audley’s life. In 
this same month of March the queen’s letter 
was published, commanding all bishops to de- 
prive the married clergy of their livings, divorce 
them from their wives, and punish them for 
their illegal marriages. 

O, the consternation and anguish that fell 
upon hundreds of English homes that March 
morning, when the bishop, prompt enough to 
obey such a command, sent messengers bidding 
all the married clergymen within the diocese 
of London to appear before him, to do pen- 
ance for their offense, and to renounce their 
wives ! 

Martin Scrope received the legal notice from 
the bishop’s messenger, and, before Mildred 
could know what had happened, had gone to 
his own little room, and, like Hezekiah of old, 
“ spread it before the Lord,” for there seemed 
no way of escape now, look in what direction 
he would. 

Many of his friends among the married cler- 
gy, anticipating this, had left England ; but he 
could not do this now, for he was poor and 
lame ; and, besides the unfriendly behavior of 
some of the foreign Protestants to the refugees, 


News from Edendale, 


241 


the English ports were now watched, and those 
attempting to escape were brought back to 
prison. 

Mildred had not regarded her husband's ab- 
sence from the family circle, for as he often 
spent the whole day in his little sanctum read- 
ing and writing, now that he was better, his ab- 
sence had caused her no alarm, and her first inti- 
mation of what had happened came from her 
friend, Dame Amy Taylor, who ruslied in, over- 
whelmed with grief. 

O, Dame Scrope, this is worse than death ! ” 
she began, as soon as she entered the room 
where Mildred and Cecily were sitting. 

‘‘ What is it } What has happened now } " 
asked Mildred, trying to speak calmly, but with 
a chilling fear creeping over her as she spoke. 

‘'Do you not know.? John told me that the 
notice had been served upon all the married 
clergy to-day." 

“ What notice ? " asked Cecily. 

“They are all to appear before Dr. Harvey, 
the new vicar general, in Bow Church, to an- 
swer the charge of having married. Dame 
Scrope, what will you do .? " asked Amy Taylor. 

But Mildred could only shake her head, as 
she rose from her seat to go in search of her 
husband. Martin, she thought, doubtless knew 


242 


Cecily. 


this, and was bearing the agony of it alone ; so 
she quickly left Dame Taylor with Cecily, and 
went up to her husband’s little room. 

In answer to her tremulous, eager knocking 
Martin at once opened the door, and drew her 
into the room, and into his sheltering arms. 
One look at her face had convinced him that 
she knew his secret, and as she rested her head 
against his shoulder he whispered, Never! 
never! nothing but death shall unmarry me, 
Mildred ! ” 

‘^Nothing can really separate us, Martin, I 
know, but I have thought of something since I 
left Dame Taylor. We cannot leave England 
now, it is impossible ; and so there seems only 
one way to save you from being imprisoned like 
Master Hooper and Master Rogers.” 

‘‘ And what is that ? ” asked Martin sharply. 

I — I must leave you,” said Mildred with fal- 
tering lips. 

‘‘ Leave me ! rob me of half my life ! No, 
no, Mildred, you do not understand what you 
are saying.” 

‘‘ Yes, I do,” said Mildred, struggling to speak 
calmly. Let me go away with the children, 
and you answer this summons, and tell the 
vicar general I have, of my own free will, 
separated from you. Surely such a sacrifice 


News from Edendale, 


243 


will appease them, and they will let you go in 
peace. Martin, I will ! I must do it,’’ she said, 
with sudden resolution, and she broke away 
from him as she spoke, as if afraid to trust her- 
self in his presence any longer, and, hastily leav- 
ing the room, hurried to her own chamber, in- 
wardly resolving not to see her husband’s face 
again. But here, alone, strength and courage 
alike forsook her, and for nearly an hour she 
knelt in dumb soul-agony before God — agony 
too great to find relief in words, even of prayer. 
But the Comforter was near, to strengthen the 
fainting, broken-hearted woman ; and she went 
to Cecily again looking calm and resolved, but 
aged since she had left that room an hour before 
beyond the power of years to age any one. 

Cecily rose to meet her, and took both her 
hands as she came in. What is it, Mildred } ” 
she asked. 

‘‘Just as Dame Taylor says. There is but 
one thing I can do — I must take the children, 
and go away, and never see my husband again. 
Do you think a messenger could overtake 
Rupert and bring him back } ” she asked. 

“ But, Mildred, is not this decision a hasty 
one } Is there no other way } ” asked Cecily. 

“ No, it is the only way of escape, Mistress 
Temple,” answered Dame Taylor. “ I have 


244 


Cecily. 


talked it over with my husband, and resolved to 
do the same thing. It is very hard, very bitter,” 
and the grief-stricken woman burst into tears 
again as she spoke. 

But Mildred stood dry-eyed, and not even the 
contagion of grief could give her the relief of 
tears yet. ‘‘ Have you made any arrangements 
for the future ? ” she asked of her friend, when 
that lady's tears had somewhat subsided. 

“ I have not thought about any thing yet, 
only that I must leave John,” she sobbed. 

“ I,” said Mildred, “ must take my children, 
and go to the old home again. Cecily, could 
we fetch Rupert back ? He would travel more 
slowly, having your maid with him.” 

“He has gone too far for any messenger to 
overtake him. Mildred, come and sit down ; ” 
and Cecily fetched one of the children and 
placed it on her lap. 

Mildred smiled faintly. “ You do not think I 
need to be reminded of these,” she said, and 
she kissed the little upturned face ; but there 
were no tears in her eyes. 

“ Go, and tell Deb I want her,” she said, 
setting the child on the floor. 

“What do you want, Mildred.^ You must 
let me help you now. I am quite well and 
strong again,” said her friend. 


News from Edendale. 


245 


Thank you, Cecily ; you will help me ; I 
know you will ; stay and take care of Martin 
for me, and do not let him miss us more than 
is necessary/' 

‘‘ And you — what are you going to do ? " 
asked Cecily. 

‘‘ I — I am going away — now — to-day. I can 
never see Martin any more." 

‘‘And Martin — does he agree to this 

“ He knows my resolution. It is the only 
thing we can do." And, Deboiah appearing at 
this moment, Mildred told her that she wanted 
her to help pack up the children's clothes, as 
she was going to take them away into the 
country. 


246 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XVIII 

A SCENE IN EAST CHEPE CHURCH. 

D ame TAYLOR went home to make 
preparations for her departure, and Mil- 
dred began her work. But Deborah's noisy, 
clumsy way of opening closets and chests cre- 
ated such a bustle in the house that Martin 
soon left his room to see what the unusual stir 
was about. 

Cecily told him at once of Mildred’s deter- 
mination not to see him again, which astonished 
him much more than the dreadful news had 
surprised his wife. This cannot, must not be, 
Cecily, and you must help me,” he said. 

“ But I thought it was the only way of escape.” 
‘‘ Escape ! do you call such torture as this 
must involve, escape.^ Better a prison and 
death at the stake, as we are threatened with, 
than that I should voluntarily doom my wife 
and children to the shame and disgrace this 
compromise would bring upon them.” 

“ But I do not see that any shame or dis- 
grace can fall upon Mildred or the children,” 
said Cecily. 


A Sce 7 ie in East Chepe Church, 247 

“ What ! not if I renounce my marriage, and 
declare it to be illegal, and against the law of 
God ? '' said Martin. 

'' But they never would require you to do 
that,” said Cecily. 

'' I am sure they would. We should be re- 
quired to profess absolute repentance, and then 
perform public penance, as though our marriage 
had been a crime. Where is Mildred } ” he 
asked. Cecily pointed to the door of a store 
closet, where Mildred had, doubtless, heard 
every word he had said quite plainly. 

Cecily felt now that, as Martin said, there 
was no escape that way for him — that prison 
and death would be preferable to such a com- 
promise as Mildred had thought of ; she there- 
fore called Deborah away from her packing, and 
sent her down stairs ; then she went to the 
children herself, leaving the husband and wife 
once more together. 

An hour or two later they both came down 
to the sitting room, still looking very anxious, 
but the terrible agony had passed out of Mil- 
dred's face, and Cecily saw, to her relief, that 
she had been crying. ‘‘ Martin has convinced 
me that I cannot do as I proposed ; it would 
bring a fate worse than death upon our children,” 

she whispered. 

16 


248 


Cecily. 


“ Could not Martin go away somewhere ? 
suggested Cecily ; ‘‘ he could by so doing avoid 
replying to this summons.'* 

O Martin, you might go to Kate for a lit- 
tle while," said Mildred eagerly ; ‘‘ I will stay 
here with the children, and then they will know 
we are separated, and perhaps by and by you 
will be able to come back. There may be some 
change soon — surely the queen will not continue 
this persecution much longer." 

‘‘ What if she had determined to root out 
these Reformed doctrines ? ” said Martin. 

“ She will never do that, I am certain," said 
Cecily ; ‘‘ but now let us talk of this new plan. 
What do you think of going to Oxford, Martin ? " 

“ I think it is worth trying. If I am caught I 
can but be brought back to prison, and that is 
certain to be my fate if I stay here, unless I ap- 
pear to the summons and deny my right to 
marry." 

The preparations for Martin's departure from 
home were soon made, and just before the city 
gate closed a horseman in the dress of a gentle- 
man's servant passed through, and took the road 
to Stratford, where he rested that night, but 
was on horseback again by dawn. 

At the end of a week a farm servant rode 
back to London on the same horse, bringing 


A Scene in East Chepe Church. 249 

a letter to the Aldgate parsonage that was 
as healing balm to Mildred’s overburdened 
heart. Her husband was safe at her sister’s, and, 
to prevent suspicion, was going to work about 
the farm and garden until he was strong enough 
to travel farther, or the persecution ceased. 

The Aldgate parsonage had become a refuge 
now for the deserted wives of those clergymen 
who had fled from London, and among them 
was Dame Amy Taylor, whose husband had 
obeyed the summons of the bishops to appear 
before the vicar general. Only one besides 
Master Taylor had ventured to obey that sum- 
mons, and the sentence had been just what 
Martin anticipated. They were deprived of their 
benefices in a legal and formal fashion, which 
had not been previously done. They were then 
forbidden to live with their wives, and the mar- 
riage was declared null and void. 

But the most bitter and cruel ceremony, and 
the one Martin Scrope had left London to es- 
cape, was deferred to the middle of May. Noth- 
ing could deter Dame Taylor from going to 
witness it. Cecily and Mildred both tried to 
persuade the poor, grief-stricken woman not to 
do this, but she begged and pleaded so hard — 
she must see her husband’s face once more. 
She could not see him again after this, for sen- 


250 


Cecily. 


tence of divorce had been pronounced against 
them ; but she might go to the church where 
they had so often worshiped God, and where 
he was now to perform penance for his marriage, 
as for a crime against public morals. 

As Dame Amy insisted upon going, Cecily 
said she and old Gillian would go with her ; for 
they were afraid to let her go alone, and Mildred 
thought it would be unwise for her to be recog- 
nized in the church as the wife of another cler- 
gyman, who had escaped doing this shameful 
penance. 

As the three quiet women made their way 
past the merchants’ stalls in Chepe toward the 
church of East Chepe, several of them recog- 
nized Dame Taylor, and words of kindly sympa- 
thy were spoken by many. 

We never thought it would come to this — 
to separate husband and wife, when they have 
been lawfully married,” said a kind-hearted silk 
mercer, and then he silently put several crowns 
into Dame Taylor’s hand. 

A few steps farther on, and another friend 
stopped them. ** Now, you know I never was 
carried away by the fuss and fashion of these 
new doctrines ; but I’ll say this for the Gos- 
pelers, that they never tried to do any body 
else any harm. It was a fair and square thing 











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John Taylor’s Penance. 





A Scene in East Chepe Churclu 253 

they asked us to do — to go and read the Bible 
for ourselves, and see whether what they said 
was true. The old Church of Rome professed 
to have got their teaching from the same book, 
but if they did, why not let us have the prayers 
in English, that we may know what is being said, 
and leave the Bibles in the churches, too } En- 
glishmen can be trusted to judge what is fair and 
honest, I trow. Dame Taylor, I’m sorry for 
you, and I wish I could help you. I don’t un- 
derstand the quarrel much now ; but I’ll think 
more of it.” 

It seemed that a good many were going to 
‘‘ think more of it ; ” for when they reached the 
church they found it very full, and it was with 
some difficulty that they made their way to a 
quiet corner where they could see without being 
seen. Dame Taylor recognized many of their 
old friends among the congregation, but she did 
not wish to be seen herself, and Cecily sat so 
as to screen her as much as possible. 

At last the vestry door opened, and a train of 
priests wended their way into the nave of the 
church, closely followed by the penitent, who, in 
a long white robe, and bearing a lighted candle 
in his hand, took the appointed place before the 
whole congregation. 

0 , my husband, my husband !” gasped Dame 


254 Cecily. 

Taylor, as the bowed, worn figure of the peni- 
tent was seen. 

‘‘ Hush, hush, you must be calm !” whispered 
Cecily, and Dame Amy was calm while mass was 
performed and the Miserere chanted. Then 
came the spectacle of the day, when the poor, 
weak, cowardly priest was made to forswear his 
wife, and declare that he had sinned against 
God and his laws, and that his pretended mar- 
riage with Amy German was a crime against 
holy Church and public morals, for which he 
now heartily repented. 

The poor, discarded wife listened with some 
degree of calmness until her husband men- 
tioned her name, and then a piercing, agonized 
shriek rang through the church, and she was 
hurried out by Cecily and Gillian, but not be- 
fore she had been recognized by several of the 
congregation. 

They returned home to Aldgate as quickly 
as they could ; but Cecily, who was anxious to 
hear something of the court news just now, kept 
her ears open to the chatter of two gossips, one 
of whom professed to have heard what she told 
from Lady Russell, one of the queen’s maids of 
honor, whom Cecily knew would be aware of 
such matters. The betrothal ring had been 
sent by Prince Philip, but the Spanish embas- 


A Scene in East Chepe Church, 255 

sador had since demanded that the Princess 
Elizabeth should be tried and executed before 
his master came to England. 

Ah ! and the Spaniard is not the poor lady’s 
only enemy,” went on the woman, ‘‘ for the lord 
chancellor says the land will never be free from 
plots and rebellion while the Lady Elizabeth is 
suffered to live.” 

'‘And whose fault is it, forsooth, but the 
chancellor’s and our new Bishop Bonner } The 
new doctrines taught men to think for them- 
selves, and when Englishmen learn that trick 
they wont be driven like sheep by outlandish 
embassadors and a cruel lord chancellor.” 

“ Be wary, dame, and talk not too loud of 
Gardiner,” said her friend, “for he will show 
less mercy than the queen. My Lady Russell 
was heard to say that when Gardiner urged 
the queen to order the Lady Elizabeth’s trial 
and execution, he said, ‘ If every one went 
to work soundly as I do, things would go on 
better.’ ” 

“ But why should Bishop Gardiner be so sav- 
age against the Lady Elizabeth ? ” asked her 
friend. 

“ The reason of that is plain enough. She is 
the hope of the Protestants, as Mary is of the 
Catholics.” 


256 


Cecily. 


“But Protestants joined with the Catholics 
in proclaiming Mary the rightful queen.'* 

“Yes, yes, we know all that," retorted the 
other impatiently ; “but the queen is not liked 
as she was at first, or there would not be all 
these rumors and scandals about her ; and it 
is certain this Spanish marriage will offend the 
people still more. Have you heard that the 
Lady Elizabeth is to be moved soon from the 
Tower 

“ Then the queen will pardon her after all ? " 
said the other. 

“ No, she is to be the prisoner of Master 
Bedingfield, who will take her to some country 
house ; for since a secret warrant was sent 
without the queen's knowledge for her execu- 
tion, not even the Tower is considered secure 
for her. You know the Lady Elizabeth goes 
to mass now ? " 

“ No, indeed^ and I will not believe it either," 
said the friend. 

“ You can please yourself about believing it ; 
but I can tell you it is true enough. Doubtless 
it has been done to please the queen, but — " 

Cecily did not want to hear any more. She, 
like many another, had begun to fix her eyes 
upon the Lady Elizabeth as the one sole hope 
of the Reformation, and now she had failed like 


A Scene in East Chepe Church, 257 

her friend, Lady Cecil, and so many others 
about the court. 

Cecily felt almost sick at heart when she 
reached home, and poor Dame Taylor was quite 
ill. When, an hour or two later. Dame Harti- 
pol, another friend of Mildred’s, came in, Cecily 
could not refrain from telling her something of 
what she had heard in the street about the 
Princess Elizabeth and her going to mass. 

''And you will have to do it, too. Mistress 
Cecily, or worse will befall you,” said Dame 
Hartipol, but coloring as she spoke. 

Cecily looked astonished. " Dame Askew 
would not yield and bow down in this idolatrous 
worship,” she said quickly, " and you — you, good 
dame, braved danger and death in those days, 
I have heard, to shelter that noble martyr.” 

"Yes, yes, and I would do it again an the 
Lord called me to help any of his people ; but — • 
but I know other folks, better and more learned 
than I am, and those that hate the mummery 
and idolatry of the mass as much as I do, who 
yet go in their bodies, while their spirits are far 
away, or joining in the English service that 
used to be held a short time ago, while their 
lips are repeating the Latin words they don’t 
understand.” 

But Cecily shook her head gravely. " I do 


2S8 


Cecily. 


not think this can be right — it is bowing the 
knee to Baal/’ she said. 

Dame Hartipol looked half offended. “ I am 
a good many years older than you/’ she said, 
and have discoursed about this thing with 
those who are wiser. It was but yesterday I 
was talking to Master West, who was steward 
to our good Bishop Ridley, and he holds this 
opinion, that our bodies may be present at the 
mass, and so long as our spirits do not consent 
to it, we are not guilty of idolatry.” 

''Not guilty of idolatry repeated Cecily; 
" but what of untruth ? Can Master West be 
happy — can he reconcile this to his conscience ? ” 
" Well, he has written to his master, and 
urged him to recant and escape the horrible 
death that awaits him. My dear child, hundreds 
like Master West and I go to mass now, who 
do not believe in it any more than you do. I 
have even now been talking to Dame Scrope 
about it, urging her to go for the sake of her 
children, and to make her husband’s escape 
secure.” 

" I am sure Martin would rather endure any 
thing than that Mildred should deny God. He 
refused to deny her, and she cannot be so faith- 
less for his sake,” said Cecily quickly, and with 
a touch of anger. 


A Scene in East Ckepe Church, 259 

‘‘My dear child, Dame Scrope must think of 
the safety of her family. Her husband has 
escaped for the time, but I have little doubt 
this house is watched by spies, and if ever he 
attempts to return he will be taken.’’ 

“ Do you really think this house is watched 
asked Cecily anxiously. 

“ I am almost sure of it, and, my dear child, 
when the Prince of Spain is here we shall 
hardly be able to trust each other, if this per- 
secution is to continue.” 

Cecily shuddered. “You do not think the 
queen will allow that horrible Inquisition to be 
set up in England she asked. 

“It will not be called the Inquisition, or the 
Holy Office, as it is in Spain ; but — but I am 
afraid the system will be the same, and it will 
be better to be free of suspicion before that time 
comes. Now, be warned in time, and, before 
your absence from church is noticed, follow the 
example of your neighbors, and go to mass.” 

“ Dame Hartipol, I cannot' — -it would be doing 
evil that good might come. And we, at least, 
ought to take warning by what happened last 
year, when many good men, like Cranmer and 
Ridley, thought to take care of the Reformation 
by passing over the rightful queen and setting 
another in her place.” 


26o 


Cecily. 


"‘Yes, yes, I own that was a mistake,” said 
Dame Hartipol with a sigh. 

“It is always a mistake to think that evil can 
bring good to any one or in any cause. Would 
it not be better to have one’s body in prison, 
with freedom to lift one’s heart in gladness to 
God, than to walk abroad in the world with a 
burdened conscience and fear, instead of glad- 
ness filling our hearts at the thought of God 
being ever present with us } ” 

“ Rut, my dear, you must think of the times 
in which we live. God knows how weak we 
are.” 

“ Yes, and he will strengthen us and fill us 
with a joyful sense of his presence if we seek it. 
Dear dame, have I not heard that xA.nne Askew 
was full of all joyfulness even in her prison 

“Yes, yes; but you would not have us all 
follow her example, noble as it was ? — you would 
not urge any to throw themselves into the fire ? ” 

Cecily shook her head. “ These are not the 
days for martyrs, I fear, and there will be none 
to follow noble Anne Askew if all I have heard 
be true,” 

“And would you have men and women fling 
their lives away.^” demanded Dame Hartipol, 
rather tartly. 

“ No, I would take all lawful care to avoid 


A Scene in East Chepe Church, 261 

danger — every thing short of denying God — and 
it is denying him to fall down and worship a 
piece of bread that the baker has made. God 
is a jealous God, and will not give his glory to 
another, even though it be claimed by the priest 
in his name ; and by his help I will never go to 
mass again,^’ concluded Cecily. 

Dame Hartipol did not attempt to continue 
the discussion. She felt annoyed with Cecily 
for what she had said, and soon after took her 
leave. 


262 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A WONDERFUL SURPRISE. 

C ECILY^S restored health compelled her to 
return to her duties at court, where she 
hoped to be able to assist her friends by obtain- 
ing employment for them as embroiderers to 
the queen and her ladies. She told Mildred 
that she should not retain her post long, but in 
the letters just received from her father he urged 
her to stay in the service of the queen until his 
return, or at least until the question of the 
Church lands was settled ; and now she was 
so much better, she had no excuse for absenting 
herself. She half hoped, half feared, that her 
refusal to attend mass would procure her in- 
stant dismissal, but when she reached Whitehall 
she found, to her surprise, that Sir Edward 
Underhill, who was well known to be a '‘hot 
Gospeler ’’ still retained his post, and he wel- 
comed Cecily back with a word of encourage- 
ment not to wound her conscience by attending 
mass. 

“ Well, truly. Master Underhill, this world 
seems to be getting in a worse tangle than 


A Wonderful Surprise. 263 

ever/* said Cecily, I have heard that all about 
the court have been compelled to go to mass, 
and many outside who truly love the better way 
are now doing so out of fear of what may follow/* 

The good man shook his head : The queen 
has evil and cruel counselors about her, but she 
is not so cruel as some would have us think.** 

Is this story I hear about the Lady Eliza- 
beth true ? ** asked Cecily. 

'' That she has sent by Martin Bedingfield 
for an English Bible to be allowed her ’* asked 
Underhill. 

*‘No, indeed ; I hear she has gone to mass.** 

“ I don*t believe it. Mistress Temple. I know 
the queen is anxious for her conversion, for her 
grace is a true and devout Catholic. No, no; we 
liave little to fear from the queen*s grace, but 
every thing from Gardiner and my lord Bishop 
of London and this Spanish embassador.** 

And things will not be mended by the com- 
ing of the Prince of Spain, I fear,” said Cecily. 

'‘Well, well, he cannot do much harm, I 
trow ; let us trust in God and our true English 
Parliament/* said Sir Edward Underhill, hope- 
fully. 

But Cecily shook her head. " I can hope in 
God, but not in the Parliament/* she said. 
" Have you ever thought of it. Master Under- 


264 


Cecily. 


hill, that nearly all those of the House of Lords 
are holders of Church property ? and to hold 
this still, they will sacrifice any thing and every 
thing else// 

** They are nearly all Protestants,*’ said her 
friend ; they passed the laws establishing the 
English Protestant Church.” 

“ And they will pass other laws, handing it 
over to the Pope again, if only they may retain 
their lands.” 

‘‘ I don’t think it. Mistress Temple,” said the 
sternly upright old man, who lived in the midst 
of enemies constantly on the watch for some fail- 
ing, but able to find nothing with which to 
charge him except in the matter of his faith, 
and that the queen permitted him to exercise 
according to his own conscience. ‘‘I don’t 
think Englishmen will ever consent to the Pope 
assuming his sway in these days. The fact is, 
we never have been obedient subjects of the Pope. 
We struggled against him in William’s time, and 
under the first Edward and the last Henry.” 

We shall not struggle much now. The 
only struggle will be for the abbey lands, and if 
the Pope is willing to yield that point, they will 
let him have the supremacy of the Church. You 
don’t think it, but I know it,” added Cecily bit- 
terly ; for she knew it was to insure his hold of 


A Wo^tderful Surprise, 265 

the priory that her father was so anxious tha:t 
she should return to the service of the queen. 

She succeeded in obtaining employment for 
Mildred and her friends at the Aldgate parson- 
age, for preparations were now being made for 
the queen's marriage with the Prince of Spain^ 
who was expected to arrive at Southampton 
about the middle of July. 

The wedding wa.s to take place at Win- 
chester, and the queen, with her ladies, retired 
to Farnham, a few miles from Winchester, to 
await the coming of the dreaded bridegroom ; 
for so great was the detestation felt by all classes 
for the expected husband of their queen that 
the children in their play fought over it, and 
one little fellow, personating Prince Philip, had 
a narrow escape from being hung by his compan- 
ions. The queen's ladies laughed when they 
heard of this, but Cecily Was too anxious to 
laugh, for at the same time she heard of the 
flight of her friend, the Duchess of Suffolk, from 
England, and the seizure of all her property by 
the orders of Gardiner and the council. 

Thinking of those living in the duchess' 
house at Aldgate, Cecily wrote to Mildred, di- 
recting her to go with her friends to the priory 
at Edendale ; but she heard soon afterward that, 
being the queen's embroiderers, they had been 
17 


266 


Cecily. 




left undisturbed, lest the work should be hin- 
dered. 

That Philip’s death was prayed for is a most 
undoubted fact, but the “ mussel shells ” of 
Spain bore him safely to England, and the very 
day he was married to Mary of England his 
father ceded to him the crown of Naples ; so 
that he was king — and they were hailed as King 
Philip and Queen Mary, though some persisted 
in shouting Mary and Philip. 

That very many were suspicious of him Philip 
well knew, for some thousands of Spaniards 
who had come with him were not even allowed 
to land ; but Philip concealed his resentment, 
and seemed most anxious to please every body, 
especially the members of the council. 

Cecily was rather surprised to find that King 
Philip was not the fierce, black-visaged man 
she had expected to see. Her first glimpse of 
him was when he paid a private visit to the 
queen, two days before the wedding The 
royal couple were walking in the garden in the 
bright moonlight, and then Cecily saw that his ; 
complexion was like Mary’s, and his hair the 
same color — sandy or red. But the expression 
of his face was dark and gloomy, and he was 
by no means handsome, although extremely 
haughty-looking. 


A Wonderful Surprise, 267 

Those who had gone to Southampton to wel- 
come the prince in the queen’s name brought 
back a strange tale of .nearly a hundred chests 
being brought ashore and taken at once to the 
castle ; and it was whispered that these were 
full of gold. 

'‘Full of goldl” repeated Cecily when she 
heard the tale ; " what will the king do with it, 
think you?’’ 

"I know what is said about it,” whispered. 
Mistress Jane Dormer, "and by a right gallant 
knight of King Philip’s train, too ; but I would 
not believe it then, although I greatly fear it 
now.” 

" What do you fear ? ” asked Cecily. 

" That our Spanish Prince means to he King 
of England as well as Naples, and bind us in 
golden fetters.” 

" Do you mean he will buy the council and 
the Parliament ? ” inquired Cecily almost aghast. 

Her companion nodded. And, what is more, 

I fear the queen will be only too willing,” she 
whispered. " Philip will more than aid our 
mistress in the government of her kingdom — 
he will rule it for her.” 

" And small mercy he will show us of the 
Reformed faith. I scarce know which I dread - 
most, Jane, King Philip, or his chosen friend, 


268 


Cecily. 


the Duke of Alva, who is always clapping his 
hand to his sword as though he longed to draw 
it upon somebody/' 

“ He is more handsome than King Philip/' 

“ And more cruel, if it be possible," said 
Cecily. But who is this Flemish knight they 
call ‘William the Silent?' Cannot the man 
speak." 

Mistress Dormer laughed. “Speak? yes, in- 
deed ; but it is said he possesses a secret that 
may cost King Philip his crown, and that Philip 
fears him more than any man besides." 

“ Then there is the Count de Feria — what do 
you think of this Spanish knight, Jane ? " asked 
Cecily, with an arch smile. 

Jane Dormer crimsoned, but retorted quick- 
ly, “ He is a worthy man, although a Spaniard ; 
but since you see the Count de Feria so much, 
what have you to say to his friend, Count 
Pedro Cazalla ? " 

Cecily turned her head aside, but there was 
a pained look in her face as she said, “ I wish I 
did not see him so often." 

“ And wherefore not ? The queen would not 
be angered, Cecily." 

“ I was not thinking of the queen, Jane, but 
— but — I think I shall ask the queen's leave to 
retire from court very soon." 


A Wonderful Surprise. 


269 


‘^And wherefore should you do that — because 
a chivalrous knight has bent the knee to you 
more frequently than to any other of the queen’s 
ladies ? Now tell me, Mistress Temple, what 
you think of this black-visaged knight ? do you 
share the opinion of the vulgar crowd, and think 
that every Spaniard has a tail which he hides 
in his trunk-hose ? ” 

No, indeed ! ” laughed Cecily. But Count 
Cazalla can never be more than a friend to me, 
and with that he will not be content.” 

And he has told you that already } Well, 
truly the count has lost no time,” laughed Jane 
Dormer. But wherefore should you refuse 
him, Cecily, for it is easy to see that you like 
him } ” 

“ Yes, truly, I could, if it were not the differ- 
ence in our faith.” 

“ And why should you let that come between 
you, when you know the queen is so anxious for 
your conversion ? ” 

“Jane, we have argued enough about this. 
If any one could convert me to a belief in Ro- 
manism, it would be the queen or you ; but hav- 
ing tasted the sweetness of God’s word, I can- 
not go back to these beggarly errors of Roman- 
ism ; and, being a Spaniard, of course Senor 
Cazalla must be a Catholic.” 


2^0 


Cecily. 


You have not spoken of the difference in 
your faith to the count, I suppose ? 

Not yet, but I mean to do it despite the 
consequences, for it may be he will tell the king 
that one of the queen’s ladies is a heretic.” 

No, no ; he will not do that,” said Jane. 

‘‘ I am not so sure, for the Spaniards are all 
such bigoted Catholics that he might think any 
measures justifiable to save my soul. But still 
I must risk it, and then Cazalla will see the im- 
possibility of a union.” 

But, Cecily, tell me this. If the count were 
a Protestant, or you a Catholic, would you do 
the same ? ” 

‘"No,” answered Cecily promptly ; for al- 
though I have known the count but a few 
weeks, he is, I am sure, a high-souled, noble, 
generous man ; and — ” 

‘‘ That is enough, Cecily,” laughed her friend. 
“ Now let us see if we cannot get over this re- 
ligious difficulty. Since the Princess Eliza- 
beth has been converted to the true faith I do 
not despair of you.” 

“ The Princess Elizabeth } ” exclaimed Cecily ; 

But I will not believe it, Jane. I cannot There 
was a report spread before that she had gone to 
mass.” 

Well, it is not false this, time, for Master 


A Wonderful Surprise, 


271 


Bedingfield has sent to inform the queen that 
the Lady Elizabeth has given up the English 
service, and now goes to mass ; has ordered 
that the service shall be in Latin, and has con- 
fessed to a friar.’* 

''O Jane, is it possible V said Cecily sadly. 

Possible.^ Yes, and sensible, too,” said her 
friend. ‘^The princess is coming to court 
now, to share in the gay doings. *Tis whis- 
pered, too, that she will marry the Prince of 
Savoy.” 

“Of course the queen is pleased at her sis- 
ter’s conversion V said Cecily. 

“ Pleased ? She is delighted, and most de- 
voutly thankful ; for the Protestants cannot put 
her forward as the hope of their party, now that 
she is a Catholic.” 

Cecily shook her head. “ The queen has no 
more loyal subjects than the Protestants,” she 
said ; “ and if they were but permitted to wor- 
ship God after their own conscience, and read 
the Scriptures as formerly, they would trouble 
the realm but little, and evil minded men would 
have no excuse to incite the people to rebel in 
their name.” 

“ That may be all very well. Mistress Cecily, 
but we are wandering from the point. Let me 
ask you this — whether you really mean to re- 


2/2 Cecily. 

fuse the Count Cazalla on account of this differ- 
ence in your faith ? '' 

Of course, I do. How can I do otherwise ? ” 
‘‘ Then you will offend the king and queen ; 
for of course they will hear of it. O Cecily, 
surely you will not be so obstinate, now the 
Princess Elizabeth has yielded ! ” 

But there was no time for Cecily to reply 
before the gentleman of whom they were talk- 
ing appeared at the end of the alley where they 
were walking. 

Cazalla, being in attendance upon King Phil- 
ip, was often thrown into the society of the 
queen’s maids, and this had been more particu- 
larly the case since the bride and bridegroom 
had retired to Richmond Palace. Truth to tell, 
he came to the garden now hoping to see Ce- 
cily, for he had made up his mind to know his 
fate at once, and Jane Dormer had no sooner 
left them than he entered upon the subject that 
lay nearest his heart. 

But, to his surprise and dismay, Cecily drew 
her hand away when he would have taken it, 
and burst into tears. 

‘'What is it.^ Have I hurt you — wounded 
you by my haste and impatience ? ” 

“ O no, no, it is not that, but—’* and Cecily 
stopped and looked round with a slight shiver. 


A Wonderful Surprise, 273 

I know what you would say, Mistress Ce- 
cily. English ladies are not wooed and won in 
this hot, hasty fashion. Pardon, pardon my 
presumption, and bid me wait a year— two years 
— only do not drive me from you without any 
hope. Bid me hope that one day— 

But Cecily shook her head. No, no, there 
is no hope ; there can be no hope for us,” she 
said, and her head bent lower and her tears fell 
faster as she spoke, 

“ What is it ? what do you mean ? ” asked the 
Spaniard. ‘‘I have a right to be answered — * 
you must, you shall, tell me this. Have you 
been making a toy, a plaything, of me because 
I am a stranger ? ” 

‘‘ O no, no, indeed ; it is a pain to me to bid 
you leave ; but I must — I must.” 

The count managed to raise her drooping 
head, and looked straight into her eyes with a 
look of triumph in his own. “You do, Cecily, 
you do love me,” he said, with trembling ear- 
nestness. 

“Yes,” she whispered; “I will tell you this 
that you may know I have not trifled with you ; 
but— but we must part now, and never meet 
again.” 

“But why, Cecily? You are trifling now,” 
he said, drawing nearer to her as he spoke. 


274 Cecily. 

'^No, no, indeed I am not; but a gulf we 
neither can pass lies between us.” 

The Spaniard started from her side and 
placed himself in front of her. 

“What do you mean — are you married or 
betrothed to another ? ” 

“ No, no, it is not that, but something that 
must separate us as surely — our faith,” whis- 
pered Cecily. 

She was prepared to see her lover look 
shocked, astonished ; but if he had received a 
mortal stab he could not have recoiled from her 
with greater agony. He staggered aside to 
allow her to pass, his face convulsed with the 
violence of his emotion, while he muttered 
slowly, Fool, fool that I am !” 

Cecily was alarmed at the sudden change in 
him, and thought he must be ill. “Can I help 
you, or fetch help for you ? ” she asked pity- 
ingly. 

But he waved her off, as she approached. 
“ Don’t come near me ! don’t touch me ! the 
touch of a heretic will poison you ! ” he whis- 
pered hoarsely. 

Cecily stared at him in still greater alarm. 
Surely he was losing his senses, and she once 
more approached him, saying, “ Senor, you are 
ill ; let me fetch some one to you.’* 


A Wonderful Surprise, 275 

But he only shook his head. ‘^Who would 
come near a heretic, when a woman refuses to 
have pity ? ” he said. 

“ But — but — -1 am the heretic,’* whispered 
Cecily, not you.” 

“ You a heretic — you, too, Cecily !’* exclaimed 
Cazalla, suddenly seizing her hands. “ Tell me 
that again! Tell me you have read the Bible 
which our priests forbid — that you dare to be- 
lieve that Christ died once for all I ” 

‘‘ Is it possible that you can believe this — you, 
a Spaniard } ” said Cecily in a tone of eager 
astonishment. 

And you are one of Queen Mary’s ladies } 
But I forget our danger in my joy. Cecily, will 
you make an excuse not to go to the hunt to- 
morrow, and meet me here, and I will tell you 
my story — or, at least, the story of my family — 
and you shall decide then whether our faith 
must separate us. ” 

Cecily promised to meet him again, and then 
they parted, for the king and queen were ap- 
proaching. 


CEaLY. 


276 


CHAPTER XX. 

IN THE PALACE GARDEN. 

HERE was a most wonderful hunt the 



A next day in Richmond Park, and all the 
court were eager to witness the strange sport ; 
but one of the queen’s ladies was kept at home 
by a headache, and one of the king’s attendants 
returned home after he had ridden a short way 
into the park. But no one noticed the absence 
of these two in the day’s sport, and Cecily and 
Cazalla met in the palace garden to talk over 
their dangerous secret without fear of interrup- 


tion. 


Cecily, I have lived in a dream since yes- 
terday,” said the count. 

“ And I have had a dreadful headache ; for I 
thought you had gone out of your mind,” said 
Cecily, as she turned to walk with her compan- 
ion to a summer-house close by. 

He led Cecily to a seat, but before sitting 
down himself he went outside to look all round, 
and make sure that no listeners were near. “ I 
cannot be too careful — too cautious,” he said 
when he came back ; “ I have felt almost afraid 


In the Palace Garden, 


277 


to trust my secret to you, Cecily, it is such a 
dangerous one; and nothing but the betrayal 
of your own— that you, too, are a heretic— could 
have given me the courage to intrust it even to 
my betrothed wife/’ 

Not betrothed yet,” said Cecily with a 
smile. 

‘‘ In heart and faith we are united, and you 
will promise to be my wife before you leave me 
to-day.” 

Cecily did not say she would not* She was 
so amazed to hear that Cazalla was one in faith 
with herself that she was eager now to hear 
where he could have learned these Reformed 
doctrines. 

Cecily, I could smile, sometimes, if I did not 
tremble with fear every time I think of it^ — to 
see the pains our Spanish friars are at to put 
down Lutheranism and every form of heresy 
abroad, while at home, in the very heart of 
Spain, they are making such progress that very 
soon, I believe, the number of the Reformed 
will at least equal, if they do not outnumber, 
those of the Orthodox.” 

“ Is it possible } in Spain, where I have heard 
the Inquisition hunts down heresy, and does 
such dreadful things 1 ” 

‘‘Yes, at the very doors of the Inquisition 


278 


Cecily. 


these truths are being learned and the Bible 
read, but so secretly that none of the authorities 
know of it, or the secret dungeons of the Holy 
Office would be filled. There is a Reformed 
Church at Valladolid, of which my uncle, Pedro 
de Cazalla, one of the most eloquent men in 
Spain, is the pastor. The Church meets in the 
house of my grandame, a noble lady of the city, 
who is thought to be above suspicion, and, there- 
fore, the secret is more safe.'' 

“ But how did you first learn these Reformed 
doctrines ? How did this new learning reach 
your jealously Catholic Spain ? " 

“ Well, Cecily, as to Spain being jealously 
Catholic, if the truth were known it never has 
been wholly Catholic, for in Aragon the Albi- 
genses always found a refuge and noble patrons, 
and made many converts, too. It is a fact that 
Spain refused to adopt the Roman ritual long 
after it had been received by all other European 
countries ; so that it will not be strange if she 
should lead the way in this Protestant Refor- 
mation, as she does in all other things.’' 

‘'It may be as you say ; Spain is a great na- 
tion, the mightiest of Europe, but — but no one 
ever thinks of her but as cruel and despotic, 
and wholly Catholic," said Cecily. 

Cazalla smiled : “ I know your English hatred 


In the Palace Garden. 


279 


and contempt for all foreigners/' he said. “ I 
know the common people believe we are so 
nearly allied to the devil that we all have tails, 
and hoofs ; but you, Cecily“you are not so 
bigoted } " 

‘‘ I don't believe in the tail, of course, but I 
had never thought of Spain as the home, the 
refuge, of Protestantism and this new learning. 
But you have not told me now how you learned 
these truths. Were you educated in the Prot- 
estant faith You say all your family are Prot- 
estant," 

And they are ; but we were all brought up 
in the Romish Church ; for it was not until a 
few years ago that these doctrines, or the holy 
Scriptures, were heard of in Spain." 

Some of your countrymen had heard of 
Luther, I suppose," said Cecily, who was impa- 
tient to hear how Cazalla had learned this truth. 

''Yes, we heard of Luther, and thought of 
him as your people do of us — that he had a tail 
and smelt of sulphur," laughed Cazalla. 

" O yes, of course, but you learned of him ? " 

" Well, I think the first teacher Spain had 
was one of her own sons. Rodrigo de Valer 
was a noble, a fashionable, wild young man, 
who suddenly disappeared from Seville society 
for some months, and when he came back it was 


28 o 


Cecily. 


not to be the leader of tilts and tournaments, 
but to reprove the monks and priests for their 
evil lives, and to teach the people what he him- 
self had, from the study of the New Testament, 
learned in his retirement. He had no human 
teacher, but he learned the truth of justification 
by faith, and taught it as clearly and boldly as 
any reformer/^ 

“ How very wonderful ! '' exclaimed Cecily ; 
‘‘ Surely God must have purposes of mercy even 
for Spain ! 

Her friend smiled. '' Dear Mistress Cecily, I 
have learned to believe that God loves all na- 
tions,*' he said. '' I suppose we each think God 
has a special favor toward our own land ; but 
he is not Spanish, or French, or English, but 
each to each, and he will give every nation the 
opportunity of sharing in the wonderful gift he 
is bestowing upon the world, that all who reject 
it may be without excuse ; and, more than this, 
as proof that this thing is of him, and no mere 
device, he has himself taught different men 
in different nations the same truth from the 
same source, the fountain of his holy word. I 
have heard that Luther and Zwinglius each 
learned in this way the wonderful truths they 
taught, and with our own grandee, Valer, it was 
the same." 


In the Palace Garden, 


281 


But is it not strange that we never heard of 
this Spanish Reformer ? asked Cecily. We 
know and honor Luther, and Zwinglius, and the 
French Reformers, Farel and Calvin, and the 
Italians, Ochino and Martyr. Is it not strange 
that we should not hear of your Senor Valer?” 

** Alas! no, Cecily. You forget that Spain 
is the land of the Inquisition. Valer was 
thought at first to be mad, and he was warned ; 
then he was arrested, and conveyed to the secret 
prisons of the Inquisition ; but, strange to say, 
some of the inquisitors themselves were among 
his disciples, and by their influence with the 
others he escaped for that time with only the 
loss of his property, and the shame that ever 
attaches to the name of ‘ heretic ' in Spain.’' 

"‘And this silenced Valer?” asked Cecily. 

"" Would it silence an Englishman ? ” asked 
Cazalla, archly. "" I tell you. Mistress Cecily, 
there are brave and tioble Spaniards, although 
your nation is slow to believe any good of us. 
Believe me, we are not a nation of Don Philips. 
There are afew Valers among us still, and when 
I tell you that he went straight from the tribu- 
nal of the Inquisition and taught again the very 
truths they had condemned, you will not charge 
him with being less bold than Luther himself.” 

"" And he did that ? ” exclaimed Cecily. 

18 


282 


Cecily. 


‘'Yes, and was again arrested, not to escape 
this time. A fate worse than death to one of 
his bold, brave, free spirit now awaited him. 
They could not burn him, for his birth and 
lineage were too high and noble ; but he was 
soon condemned to perpetual imprisonment, and 
as a warning to others used to be taken to the 
cathedral church of Seville to perform penance, 
at the festivals of the Church. But this was 
not continued long, for, after the sermon, instead 
of professing his penitence and abjuring the 
doctrines he had taught, he boldly told the people 
not to believe a word of the lying doctrine they 
had heard from the preacher, but to study God’s 
word for themselves, and see whether the teach- 
ing and practice of the Church agreed with the 
commands of God.” 

Cecily’s eyes were full of tears as she listened. 
“ I will try to think of your noble Valer some- 
times when I hear any saying hard things of 
your nation,” she said. 

“Thank you. Our Valer is little known on 
earth, but he is one of the ‘ noble army of mar- 
tyrs,’ enrolled from all nations, that now stand 
praising God.” 

“ He is dead, then said Cecily. 

“Yes, thank God! or, rather, he has passed 
from his living death in the monastery dungeon 


In the Palace Garden, 283 

to his true life, beyond the power of the Inqui- 
sition. His bold addresses to the people when 
brought out to do penance soon earned for him 
a more rigorous confinement, and he was sent 
to a distant prison, which he was never allowed 
to leave afterward, until death relieved him, about 
ten years ago.’' 

‘‘ And you learned the truth from this noble 
countryman of yours } ” asked Cecily. 

‘'No, not from Valer, for few living beyond 
the neighborhood of Seville ever heard him. I 
learned it from my Uncle Pedro, one of the em- 
peror’s chaplains, a most learned and eloquent 
man, who has traveled in many countries, to 
dispute with heretics and refute their doctrines. 
To do this he had to study the writings of the 
Reformers and compare them with the Script- 
ures, and in doing so became convinced of their 
truth, and returned to Spain to teach the truths 
he had sought to confound. In this he has 
been greatly aided by one of the most powerful 
grandees of Spain, Don de Seso, who is himself 
a learned and most earnest Christian man.” 

“ And is it not dangerous to teach these 
things in Spain now } ” asked Cecily. 

“ Yes, indeed, it is most dangerous ; and if our 
friar here, Soto, were only to see me talking to 
you, and discovered that you were a heretic, it 


284 


Cecily. 


might involve all my family, and half Valladolid, 
in ruin.” 

‘‘ Then why, O why, do you expose them to 
such a risk ? ” exclaimed Cecily, starting from 
her seat as she spoke. “ It is well known here 
that I am a heretic — that neither Master Un- 
derhill nor I ever go to mass. You must not, 
shall not, speak to me again,” she said. 

But Cazalla would not allow her to pass out 
of the summer-house. 

‘‘ Cecily, you are more brave than I am, for I 
fear to rouse suspicion against my friends by 
absenting myself. Will you not teach me — help 
me to do what is right — in spite of the conse- 
quences 

Cecily shook her head. ‘‘ I don’t know what 
you ought to do. Your friars, Soto and Garcia, 
who have come to confront us English here- 
tics — will they learn of us, think you.^” she 
asked. 

Her friend shook his head. ** God only can 
tell. Soto I fear more even than Carranza, 
who urges that no mercy, no quarter, should be 
shown to heretics, for Soto betrayed his own 
friend, Egithius, into the hands of the Inquisi- 
tion when he found that he had been a follower 
of Valer. I do fear Soto,” added the count, with 
a sigh. 


In the Palace Garden, 285 

“Then I will not see you, will not speak 
to you again, for I cannot bear to think that 
you are in danger — and your friends,’' added 
Cecily. 

“You will give me the promise I ask, then, 
to-day — now, while this rare opportunity lasts ; 
and then I will promise not to seek you more 
than I shall the other ladies of the court,” said 
Cazalla ; and he drew Cecily down upon the seat 
again, and begged and pleaded, using all the 
arguments he could think of, until at last her 
promise was gained, and she consented to a 
secret marriage as soon as she could withdraw 
from the service of the queen. Of course, the 
engagement was to be a secret, and their man- 
ner to each other would have to be extremely 
guarded, all which — the secrecy and the caution 
— was extremely irksome to Cecily ; but she 
dare not ask to withdraw from her post until 
the important question concerning the dis- 
posal of the abbey lands was settled by Par- 
liament. 

The comparative quiet of Richmond was soon 
left behind, and Cecily once more formed part 
of the triumphal procession that entered Lon- 
don. As usual, there were all sorts of quaint 
devices, and pageants erected by the citizens ; 
and the gibbets with their hanging skeletons 


286 


Cecily. 


had been taken down, as well as the heads of 
Wyatt and his followers, from London Bridge. 
But although every thing that could offend the 
sight had been taken out of the way, and the 
sun shone as bright this August day as it had 
done twelve months before, Cecily could see 
and hear that the welcome given to the queen 
now was not as hearty as when she first entered 
her capital. There were many sad and gloomy 
faces among the crowd, and not a few openly 
scowled at King Philip. Then there was con- 
fusion in the shouts, for some cried, Long 
live Mary and Philip ! ” while but few would 
raise the orthodox cry, ‘^Long live Philip and 
Mary ! ” 

But if the citizens were not altogether 
pleased with the queen, she was greatly dis- 
pleased with them before she reached Suf- 
folk Place, where she was to stay that night. 
One of the pageants was a representation of 
the nine worthies, and King Henry VIII. 
holding an open book in his hand toward 
the queen, inscribed, '^Verbum DeV' — God’s 
Word.” 

Mary and Philip were both greatly displeased, 
and, to prevent this heretical pageant from doing 
any further mischief, a painter was sent for in- 
stantly to efface the obnoxious book, and so 


lit the Palace Garden, 287 

hastily was his work done that half the hand 
holding it was painted out, too. 

« Of course, there was a great deal of laughing 
and jesting about this afterward among the 
ladies and gentlemen of the court, and Cazalla 
contrived to whisper to Cecily, ‘‘Your citizens 
seem determined to hold fast by the Script- 
ures.*’ 

“ Many of them are true Gospelers, and will 
do so ; but I fear that when it comes to the 
Parliament, and many find the land or the Bible 
must go, they will hold fast to the land.” 

“We shall see, we shall see. You will leave 
the court as soon as this land question is set- 
tled } *’ said Cazalla anxiously. 

“ I would leave at once, if it were possible, 
for I am needed at home. I have just received 
^ letters from my father’s steward, who tells me 
that the crops are rotting in the fields from the 
constant wet we have had lately, and there is so 
much distress among the poor. Yes, J will 
leave as soon as I can. Have you heard when 
the council meets } ” 

“ In a few weeks, I believe, and this question 
of restoring the abbey lands to the Church will 
then be brought forward. But see : Soto has 
entered the gallery ; I must say farewell,” and 
Cazalla bowed in his most courteous and stately 


288 Cecily. 

fashion, and went at once to speak to the holy 
father. 

Cecily turned away, sick at heart. She was# 
so weary of the rounds of gayeties and endless 
festivities, and longed to be at rest somewhere. 
At rest ! but where could rest be found ? Not 
in England now, for every body lived in fear of 
what the morrow might bring them ; for scarce- 
ly a day passed but some one was haled off to 
prison for the crime of reading God's word, or 
teaching their children the Lord's Prayer in 
English. 

Cecily often wondered what the fate of the 
imprisoned bishops would be, for Hooper was 
still in his miserable dungeon in the Fleet, and 
Cranmer, Ridley, and Latimer, at Oxford. Al- 
though they had been condemned to be burned, 
no one had thought the sentence would be car- 
ried into execution, and this long imprisonment 
seemed to give many the hope that the queen 
would eventually pardon them, especially 
Hooper, who had from the first espoused her 
cause. 

Soon after the court arrived at Whitehall the 
Duke of Norfolk died, which put an end to fur- 
ther merry-making just now, for the court went 
into mourning, and the queen retired, with one 
or two of her ladies, to Hampton Court. 


In the Palace Garden, 289 

Cecily obtained leave to withdraw for this 
season in order to attend to her father's affairs 
in the country, and it was with a thankful heart 
she turned her back once more on her palace- 
home, and went to visit her friends at the Aid- 
gate parsonage. 


290 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

WAS IT WITCHCRAFT ? 

ECILY had not been many hours at the 



Aldgate parsonage, where she purposed 
spending a few days, before Dame Gillian found 
an opportunity of airing her latest and greatest 
grievance — her young mistress* betrothal to a 
Spaniard. Cecily knew she could trust her old 
nurse with her secret, and it had been some re- 
lief to tell her ; but the old woman had found 
it hard work to keep it, and as soon as she 
found Mildred alone she unburdened her mind 
of the weight that oppressed her. 

‘‘ Dame Scrope, I had it in my mind more 
than once to go to the queen herself, and ask her 
to stop the foolish child from throwing herself 
away on an outlandish foreigner, who, they do 
say — and I believe it, too — has got a tail tucked 
out of sight somewhere. I’ve tried to get a 
look at his feet, too, but I never could,’* added 
the old woman in a mysterious whisper. 

Mildred could not 'help smiling at this, in 
spite of the astonishment she felt, and she did 
feel greatly astonished, and alarmed, too. ‘‘ Does 


Was it Witchcraft? 291 

your mistress go to mass now?'’ she asked, 
rather anxiously. 

'‘What has that to do with this horrible 
marriage ? " snapped the old woman. “ Relig- 
ion seems to be every thing nowadays. If a 
man is only a Protestant, it don't matter whether 
he's a Frenchman or any other outlandish 
stranger." 

Mildred smiled at the old woman’s anger. 
“ I know you hate all strangers," she said ; “ but 
we are greatly indebted to them for much that 
we have learned ; and our late king invited 
many French, German, and Italian scholars to 
teach in our universities because they were 
Protestants, but I never heard of Spanish Prot- 
estants." 

“ Of course not ; they are all rogues and 
thieves, come over to rob us of every thing, 
even our sweetest ladies, and not even my dear 
young mistress could escape them. I believe 
this count has bewitched her. It must be witch- 
craft and nothing else, or she would never like 
an outlandish stranger when she might have an 
honest Englishman," concluded Gillian. 

Mildred did not know what to think. It 
might be as the old woman said, that Cecily 
had fallen under the spells of witchcraft to give 
up her faith. All Spaniards, she had heard. 


292 


Cecily. 


had dealings with the evil one, and what more 
natural — all other means of inducing her to go 
to mass having failed — than that this gentle- 
man of King Philip’s should weave his spells 
about one of the queen’s ladies, in order to draw 
her into this idolatrous worship ? It troubled 
Mildred greatly, but she could not speak to 
Cecily about it at once, for she had begged to 
be left undisturbed while she wrote letters to 
her father, Lady Cecil, and some other friends. 

Turning over every probable and improbable 
solution of the mystery, the only one at all fea- 
sible to her mind was the one suggested by 
old Gillian — Cecily was really and truly be- 
witched ; and then arose the question whether 
it would not be better to inform against this 
Spaniard at once, before the marriage took 
place. In her perplexity she sent for her friend, 
Dame Hartipol, and talked to her, and it was 
agreed that they should both go and talk to 
Cecily, and it might be they could by that means 
ascertain whether or not she was under the in- 
fluence of magical spells. 

Cecily, who had just finished writing a long 
letter to her father, informing him of her pro- 
jected marriage and asking his consent, and 
also appealing to him to give up Edendale 
Priory and retire with her and Cazalla to his 


Was it Witchcraft? 293 

estate in Spain, was somewhat surprised to see 
Mildred and Dame Hartipol enter the room 
looking so anxious. 

‘‘What is it ? What has happened V' asked 
Cecily in some alarm. 

“ We don't quite know yet, Mistress Cecily ; 
don’t look so frightened,” said Dame Hartipol, 
taking her hand and giving Mildred some 
mysterious nods. 

“ There is some dreadful news to tell me, I 
know — something has happened at court ; ” and 
Cecily flew to the window, expecting to see 
messengers at the door. She was greatly agi- 
tated, which only confirmed her friends’ suspi- 
cions about her, and they treated her as though 
she were insane. At last, after various attempts 
to soothe and calm her, which in turn amused, 
puzzled, and irritated Cecily, Dame Hartipol 
said, “You go to mass now. Mistress Cecily. 
Will you come with me to-morrow 

“ Who told you I go to mass ? ” asked Cecily. 

“ Well, your old nurse, Gillian, has been talk- 
ing to Dame Scrope. 

“ Gillian ! O, I know what you mean, now,” 
exclaimed Cecily, breaking into a merry laugh ; 

she has told you I am betrothed to one of the 
king’s gentlemen — Count Cazalla.” 

“And it is true, Cecily.^” asked Mildred. 


294 


Cecily. 


‘‘Yes, quite true,*’ said Cecily, who thought 
she would have some fun now. 

“ But he is a Spaniard,” said Dame Hartipol. 

“ And you believe in their tails ? Well, I 
have not seen it, but am assured it is quite 
harmless where it exists,” said Cecily. 

“ But, Cecily, how could you like — ? ” 

“ A man with a tail — to say nothing of his 
feqf,” interrupted Cecily. “ Well, the count is a 
most noble, generous, chivalrous knight, and 
they are not so common in these cfays that one 
need to quibble about — a tail.” 

Mildred began to see now that Cecily was 
joking, and she said, “ Well, whether he has a 
tail or not, I am very sorry, very deeply grieved, 
to hear of this marriage ; for, of course, he is a 
Catholic, and will compel you to go to mass 
with him.” 

“ No, he will not. Mildred, I am almost 
afraid to trust our secret even to you and Dame 
Hartipol ; it is so dangerous ; but Count Ca- 
zalla and all his family are Protestant, and there 
are many others in Spain, although it is not 
known to the authorities.” 

“ A Spaniard and a Protestant ! ” exclaimed 
both her friends in a breath. 

“ Are you sure he is not deceiving you. Mis- 
tress Cecily ? that he is not one of the servants 


Was it Witchcraft? 295 

of the Inquisition ? said Dame Hartipol suspi- 
ciously. 

If you knew Count Cazalla as I do you would 
know it was impossible/' said Cecily proudly. 

But Mildred shook her head. ‘‘ I greatly fear 
we shall have the Inquisition set up among us, 
and who can tell but this Count Cazalla has 
been sent to do it." 

Cecily looked half offended. ‘‘You will, I 
trust, see the count to-night or to-morrow. He 
has promised to visit me here before I journey 
into the country." 

“A Spaniard come here! O Cecily, you 
have betrayed us," exclaimed Mildred. 

“ Betrayed you } Why, Mildred, Count Ca- 
zalla has more reason to fear you, now that I 
have told you our secret, than you have to fear 
him. Besides, what harm can he do you ? I have 
told him nothing of Martin, and he is safe at 
Oxford still ; and you are only known as the 
queen's embroiderers. One of the servants will 
direct him here about this same business of em- 
broidery, for he is anxious for some of our En- 
glish handicraft." 

But Mildred looked only still half satisfied. 
“ I would the queen had chosen to wed with 
the young Earl of Devon, and these Spaniards 
had never been heard of," she said. 


296 


Cecily. 


I, too, wish King Philip had never set foot in 
England,” said Cecily ; “ but we do his nation 
wrong in thinking they are all brutish, evil- 
minded men, given over by God to the devil. 
There have been good and noble men in Spain 
who have laid down their life for the truth of 
the Gospel ; ” and then Cecily told the story of 
Rodrigo de Valer. 

She succeeded at last in convincing her 
anxious friends that she was not under the 
spells of witchcraft, but they could only shake 
their heads dubiously over her proposed mar- 
riage. 

The next day Count Cazalla paid his promised 
visit, but his stately, haughty Spanish manners 
were a fresh offense to Mildred. She consented, 
however, to do the embroidery he required — 
some work which would involve rather frequent 
visits, she found, which was another cause of 
displeasure, although she took care to conceal 
it from Cecily. 

The journey to Edendale had been postponed 
that Cecily might write her letters and dispatch 
them through her friend, Sir William Cecil, be- 
fore she left London ; but the very day fixed for 
her departure she was seized with another at- 
tack of ague. This complaint was very common 
in those days, and often proved fatal, and Count 


Was it Witchcraft f 


297 


Cazalla was exceedingly anxious. It was this 
anxiety that first induced Mildred to view him 
with any favor. All that kind thoughtfulness 
could suggest did he do for Cecily, and often 
brought the two children wonderful and costly 
toys that they might not make a noise to dis- 
turb her. 

Lady Cecil came to visit her, as well as Mis- 
tress Jane Dormer, the queen’s favorite maid, 
who suggested archly that it would be better 
for Cecily to go to Spain for a season, as she 
would not be .able to return to her duties at 
court for some time. It was some weeks before 
Cecily was able to leave her bed, but as soon as 
she was well enough she sat up to receive a 
visit from Count Cazalla, who sent word to her 
that the council had met and he had some im- 
portant news to tell her. 

As soon as the first greetings were over 
Cecily said, *‘You bring me news about this 
land question ? ” 

‘‘Yes, indeed, I do,” and the count smiled. 

“ Is it settled ? ” asked Cecily. 

“ Yes. I think my Lord of Bedford has con- 
vinced the queen, in his rough English fashion, 
that, whatever else they may yield, it will not be 
the abbey lands.” 

“ Tell me all that passed. Were you present 
19 


298 


Cecily. 


“Yes, for I was anxious to see how your 
carping English nobles behaved in their solemn 
council ; and — but O, Cecily, one nation never 
will understand another, I fear, for my Lord of 
Bedford played the part of a passionate school- 
boy who is threatened with the loss of a meal.'' 

“ Why, what did he do ? " 

“ Well, the queen was present, and one spoke 
of the fatherly council that had come from 
Rome concerning the restoration of the Church 
lands, when the Earl of Bedford rose from his 
seat, snatched the rosary of beads from his girdle, 
and threw them into the fire, exclaiming, with an 
oath, ‘ I value my sweet abbey of Woburn more 
than any fatherly council that can come from 
Rome!"' 

“ I quite believe it," said Cecily, with a smile. 

“ No one can doubt it. But, Cecily, if they 
keep the lands they must yield something in 
return. You know that this rbilch-talked-of 
Cardinal Pole is coming as the Pope's legate, to 
reconcile the kingdom to his holiness, and is 
expected to reach England this present month 
of November." 

“Yes, I have heard it whispered that the 
Pope will be made head of the English Church 
again, but I am not so sure that the people will 
agree to it." 


Was it Witchcraft f 


299 


“The people ! But will they be asked ? Many 
of those sitting in Parliament hold these abbey 
lands, and they will be suffered to hold them — 
for a time, at least, as the price of their compli- 
ance with other changes the king and queen 
may wish to make. 

'' You mean the re-establishment of the Pope's 
supremacy. I know the queen does not like this 
new prerogative of sovereignty — this being the 
head of the Church." 

‘‘ And Carranza, King Philip’s confessor, is 
by no means satisfied with the existing laws 
against heresy, and the new Parliament about 
to meet will be asked to pass more rigorous 
measures." 

What ! more rigorous than that detestable 
Act of Six Articles," exclaimed Cecily. 

“ You forget, I am a stranger, and know little 
about your laws ; but I know what is talked of 
in the king’s chamber — that nothing but extreme 
measures will root out this heresy ; that laws 
must be passed more severe than any that now 
exist ; and that the principles of our own infa- 
mous Holy Office must be slowly and carefully 
introduced into every parish." 

‘‘ But, Pedro, King Philip is not our king } 
Englishmen will never allow your Inquisition to 
be set up here," exclaimed Cecily, passionately 


300 


Cecily. 


‘‘ They will not know it. Instructions are to be 
issued to every parish priest to look out two or 
more discreet persons who shall inform them- 
selves, and acquaint him, with the manners and 
behavior of every family under his charge. No 
one will call this secret spying ‘the Inquisition 
but it comes to the same thing, for instructions 
are also to be sent to the governors of prisons to 
make use of torture to make their victims dis- 
close their guilt.*^ 

“ But, Pedro, this never will be allowed in 
England,'* said Cecily. “ Queen Mary is our 
ruler." 

“ With King Philip to aid her," put in Ca- 
zalla, “ and that ‘ aid * is the ordering of what 
she shall do." 

“But you forget that the queen cannot do 
just .as she likes, or even as her husband com- 
mands her, in matters of State. She must be 
guided by her council and Parliament. You 
yourself know how anxious she is to have the 
abbey lands restored to the Church — that she 
fully intends to give up all that belong to the 
crown — but she cannot force the council and 
Parliament to do this against their wish." 

“ No! and in this question I can see their 
o rength and their weakness, too. The queen 
wants the lands and new laws, too. She cannot 


Was it Witchcraft ? 


301 


get both ; but her Parliament will not dare to 
refuse both, and so there will be a tacit bargain 
between the two. They will be suffered to hold 
their possessions in peace if they pass laws 
which the queen desires, and then — 

‘‘ What 1 ” asked Cecily anxiously. 

But Cazalla hid his face. God pity this 
poor land when Philip and Carranza have their 
way ! Cecily, it will be no place for you,” he 
said, when he raised his head. I must take 
you to a place of safety before long.” 

“ But I cannot, will not, believe that our En- 
glish Parliament will ever pass such laws as you 
say the king desires. You do not understand 
this Reformation of ours. It was not brought 
about merely by King Henry’s rejection of 
the supremacy of the Pope. The people have 
learned the difference between the Romish and 
Protestant faith, and, having had the Bible open 
to them for many years, now they have chos- 
en the Protestant faith intelligently for them- 
selves.” 

I do not doubt what would be — what is — 
the choice of the people ; and if the passing of 
these new laws rested with them they never 
would be passed. But it is not the people who 
have the choice. There is a picked House of 
Commons, where Spanish gold has been spent 


302 


Cecily. 


freely, and an Upper House, calling itself Prot- 
estant — because it is convenient, seeing that 
most of them hold abbey lands — but caring 
nothing for any religion so that they may re- 
tain their possessions. These will do the queen’s 
bidding, or the king’s, either, and their great 
care will be to root out this heresy by the burn- 
ing of heretics.” 

“They will never do it. Have you not heard 
the saying, ' The blood of the martyrs is the 
seed of the Church ? ’ ” 

“ Yes, and I have read, too, that, when per- 
secuted in one place, we are bidden to fly to 
another, and, therefore, we must take some 
measures to secure our safety while there is 
time ; for when once this fierce persecution 
begins they will give us small chance of es- 
cape.” 

“ O Pedro, I cannot think the queen will be 
so cruel,” persisted Cecily. 

“ The queen ! But you forget the power be- 
hind — Philip and his confessor. Have you re- 
ceived the letters from your father yet } will he 
give me the right to protect you from the coming 
storm ? ” asked the count anxiously. 

“ Yes, the packet came by a messenger from 
Lady Cecil yesterday, and — and he agrees to 
every thing I wish but to give up the land. He 


303 


Was it Witchcraft ? 

will not ask me to give up my faith, he says, 
because he has never forgotten a conversation 
we once had about it, and he is sure I could 
not believe in the Romish doctrines again ; but 
he thinks I had better leave England and join him 
in France, as Cardinal Pole is about to return, 
and the kingdom to be reconciled to the Pope.” 

‘‘ Your father is at least sensible, Cecily, and 
now, when will you give me the right to protect 
and shield you from all this coming trouble ? 
As the Countess Cazalla you might be able to 
help some of your friends to escape.” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, Mildred and Martin Scrope must 
come with me. But have you ever thought of 
this, Pedro — who could marry us 1 ” 

It was a difficulty neither of them had fore- 
seen, and Cazalla had to leave at last without 
having discovered any way out of it ; but charg- 
ing Cecily to think of some plan for a secret 
marriage before he came again. 


304 


Cecily. 


CHAPTER XXIL 

CONCLUSION. / 

WO men were traveling along the same 



-JL flat stretch of road to which our readers 
were introduced in the opening chapter of this 
story, but the landscape looked bare and deso- 
late in the wintry sunshine of that February 
day. They both wore leather jerkins and the 
coarse clothes of farm servants, but the taller of 
the two wore his hat slouched over his face, and 
his head drooped, so that it was not easy for any 
other chance passenger to see his face. 

As they drew near the manor-house Squire 
Audley appeared at the gate, and then one of 
the men said in a loud tone, “ Squire, have you 
got a job of work you can give a poor knave 
Tve just picked up on the road ? This is our 
squire I was telling you about,” he said, turn- 
ing to his companion, “and yonder s our parish 
priest, good Father Ambrose.” 

The traveler bent in lowly reverence to the 
priest as he passed, but contrived to keep his 
face concealed, while the squire and the priest 
exchanged distant courtesies. 


Conclusion, 


305 


What can the knave do ? ” asked the squire ; 
'' there isn’t much work going now, and in these 
hard times, what with bad harvests and — ” But 
there was no need to proceed further with the 
grumbling, for the priest was beyond hearing, 
and there was no one else to be seen ; and in a 
very different tone Squire Audley said fervent- 
ly, God bless you, Hodge Watkins ! — God for- 
ever bless you for this day’s work ! ” and he 
would have grasped a hand of each, but Hodge 
whispered cautiously, Don’t spoil it, squire. 
The work isn’t done yet, and some one may be 
about. You go on, and let Master Scrope fol- 
low behind, and don’t turn to speak to him until 
you get indoors.” Then, turning to his fellow- 
traveler, he said, for the benefit of any chance 
eavesdropper, Well, now, you’d better take the 
squire’s offer~a good meal, and a night’s rest 
in the barn, with plenty of clean straw, is not 
to be despised and then, with a parting nod, 
he hurried toward the priory. 

To send for Dame Gillian and ask to see 
Mistress Cecily was the work of a very few 
minutes ; but the old woman felt aggrieved at 
the secret conferences that had already been 
held between her young mistress and this farm 
servant, and she told him abruptly that her lady 
should not be disturbed. But she had hardly 


3o6 


Cecily. 


spoken the words when Cecily’s maid came 
tripping down the stairs with an order from her 
mistress to take Hodge to her at once. 

When the maid opened the door Cecily came 
hastily forward to meet her awkward and 
abashed visitor. O Hodge, tell me quickly, is 
he safe ? ” she asked. 

'' Aye, Mistress Cecily, safe enough in Squire 
Audley’s hall,” whispered Hodge. 

‘‘Thank God! O Hodge, how can I reward 
you for this service ? ” 

“ I wouldn’t take any thing, Mistress Cecily ; 
for this is just the proudest day of my life. It’s 
what Fve been longing for and waiting for all 
these six years. I thought it had come when 
King Edward died, and I went to London ; but 
it’s come to-day, and I can let you know that an 
Englishman, if he is poor, isn’t ungrateful.” 

“ I never thought to ask you to do me such 
a service as this, and you a Catholic ? ” 

“ Mistress Cecily, I was a Catholic when you 
saved me and my mother, and Squire Audley, 
who was a Protestant as well as you, was always 
a kind friend to us. Of course, I like the old re- 
ligion, but I don’t like these burnings that I’ve 
heard about — four good men burned in one 
week ; and Hooper — the Bishop of Gloucester— 
declared for Queen Mary, and helped her, too, 


Conclusion, 


307 


they say, when the people were throwing caps 
for Queen Jane in London. No, no, I don’t like 
these burnings ; but it makes me wonder, more 
and more, what there can be in this new relig- 
ion, that men will die rather than give it up ; 
for a man told me that the queen’s pardon was 
offered to each of them if they would only re- 
cant and go to mass.” 

‘‘ O Hodge, if you only knew the difference 
there is between the old faith and the new,” ex- 
claimed Cecily, ‘^you would not wonder that 
men preferred to die rather than give it up.” 

“ Well, Mistress Cecily, I do believe there 
must be a difference, as you say. I used to 
think it was all the land, for you see them that 
got tlie Church lands always called themselves 
Protestants.” 

‘‘ Yes, yes, I know,” said Cecily, turning aside 
her shame-stricken face. 

‘‘ Of course, I thought that when the queen 
altered the religion of the country again they’d 
go with the tide, as many of them have ; but 
there’s many more that hasn’t, and why the 
queen can’t treat them as King Edward did us 
•—just leave them alone— is more than I can tell.” 

I— I don’t think the queen is so much to 
blame, Hodge, as many suppose. It is the 
king and Gardiner and Bonner” 


308 


Cecily. 


Well, now, that's another thing. They say 
the priests are afraid of this new learning, be- 
cause they’ll never get money for masses for 
the dead and absolution, and that’s why the 
Bibles are taken out of the churches. I wish 
now I’d gone to hear Master Rupert read it 
sometimes. I’d like to know what there can 
be in it that Master Bonner is afraid of it, and 
burns them that understand most about it ; for 
you see they are all learned men that he’s got 
rid of.” . 

They have taken poor men as well, Hodge, 
although none of them have been burned yet. 
But Bishop Bonner hopes, by taking those who 
are well known, to frighten others into giv- 
ing up these new opinions, or never learning 
them” 

Hodge shook his head. “ Of course, I can’t 
pretend to know any thing about it, but it seems 
a mistake — that way does, You know how long 
the Bible stood in our church, and I could have 
heard it read any day, but I never wanted to 
go. It didn’t seem to concern me; but since 
I’ve heard about Protestants being clapped into 
prison for saying their prayers in English, and 
good men, that nobody finds fault with except 
that they don’t go to mass, burned - well, I want 
to know what there is in the Bible that the 


Coiichision. 


309 


priests are afraid to let us see it ; and, please 
God, ril know soon, too, if I can find out where 
there is a Bible/’ 

“ That’s right, Hodge. Hear what the word 
of God says about absolution, and masses for 
the dead, and prayers to the Virgin, and pray- 
ing to a piece of bread. Squire Audley will 
have a Bible of his own soon, and he will read 
it to you, never fear. But now, tell me, how are 
we to get into the church to-night.'* Count 
Cazalla will be here about midnight, and Dame 
Scrope will be with him ; but how are we to 
get into church } ” 

I will get the key from Father Ambrose, 
never fear.” 

But, Hodge, you must be carefirt that there 
are no watchers about to see the light in the 
church.” 

‘‘You may trust me, Mistress Cecily; but 
there is nothing to fear, for if the light was 
seen the knaves would all be too frightened to 
come near. No, no; there have been too many 
ghost stories talked about lately for any body to 
come near the priory or the church. Father 
Ambrose has talked about it so much that he 
half believes it himself now ; but in case he 
should be abroad and venture near I’ll have a 
ghost in readiness for him ; ” and Hodge rubbed 


310 


Cecily. 


his hands and chuckled with glee at the thought 
of playing ‘'ghost’' to the originator of the 
tales. 

This had been the proudest, happiest day of 
his life, and when Cecily finally dismissed him, 
saying she must trust all the arrangements to 
him, he would not have given up the honor even 
for his old position of reeve. 

Cecily paced the room for an hour after he 
had left her, thinking of his faithful service, of 
the noble, manly nature that, in spite of creed 
and priestly control, asserted itself in Hodge 
Watkins ; and she thought with bitterness of 
those who, noble by name but basely ignoble 
by nature, had sold the lives and liberties of their 
fellow-men for Philip’s Spanish gold and the 
abbey lands. Wrested from the Church of 
Rome by force and fraud, they had borne the 
inevitable fruit of wrong-doing, and proved a 
bitter curse to the Church of England, for 
which she was now called upon to make a terri- 
ble expiation. But Cecily grew calmer as the 
time went on, for Hodge’s curiosity to read the 
Bible inspired her with the hope that others, too, 
like him, would have their thoughts turned 
toward this subject, and examine into the cause 
of the bitter hatred and persecution organized 
against the Reformed faith. 


Conclusion. 


311 


And yet why should she hope this ? she 
asked herself with a sigh“what hope was there 
for the English Reformation ? The Pope was 
again the head of the Church, and had sent 
Cardinal Pole as his legate, to reconcile the 
kingdom on its promising to abjure heresy ; 
and all too willingly had the Parliament passed 
laws that would commit hundreds to prison and 
the stake ; and not even the queen’s death would 
release them from this thralldom now, for there 
was small hope that the Princess Elizabeth 
would ever succeed her sister, now that an heir 
was expected, and King Philip appointed guard- 
ian of the kingdom in case of the queen’s death. 
No, no ; it was useless to hope for the English 
Reformation any longer. Those who could es- 
cape from England must do so, as she and 
Martin and Mildred Scrope were going to do. 

She had never thought it would be necessary 
for her to do this. She had fancied her father 
w’Dald have influence enough to protect her; 
but she was afraid to trust to this now. Then 
she thought of her father, now growing old and 
worn, and the disappointment he would feel at 
her leaving England just as he was about to re- 
turn and settle down to spend the evening of 
his days in the retirement of Edendale. Then 
she thought of his possessions here — the church 


312 


Cecily. 


lands that had been a constant source of anx- 
iety and trouble to him ever since he had held 
them. True, he had more right to them than 
many, for they were given in payment of a just 
and lawful debt ; but they had brought nothing 
but trouble, and had been the means of chang- 
ing her father from the bluff, good-natured sol- 
dier to the hard, relentless landlord ; for he 
fancied that every body owed him a grudge for 
holding the land, and servants and neighbors 
were alike treated as enemies. Look at it which 
way she would, Cecily could only feel that to 
her father, as well as to the Church of England, 
this land had been no blessing, and she again 
repeated, ‘‘Can men gather grapes of thorns 
But Cecily could not spare all her time for 
these meditations. She was to be married to 
Count Cazalla at midnight in the parish church, 
and Martin Scrope was to perform the ceremony 
after the manner of the Reformed Church. 
Cazalla would return to London again immedi- 
ately, for he had obtained the king’s permission 
to go back to Spain, as the English climate had 
seriously affected his health, and a ship was 
already awaiting him in the Thames. He was 
to embark the next day, and, wind and weather 
permitting, would reach Harwich the day fol- 
lowing, where Cecily, with her maid, and Martin 


Conchision, 


313 

and Mildred Scrope, also, as her servants, would 
be in readiness to embark. 

This was the plan of escape which, by the 
rather reluctant help of old Gillian, who did not 
like being left behind, the ready assistance of 
Squire Audley, and the ready ingenuity of 
Hodge Watkins, was successfully carried out. 
There had to be a little care exercised in enter- 
ing the marriage in the parish register, but for- 
tunately Father Ambrose could neither read nor 
write himself, and so Squire Audley had always 
to perform this duty for him ; so that the only 
care necessary was not to occupy too much of 
the page, lest the old priest should remember 
just where the last entry stood. 

Cecily thought of that other wedding, when she 
and Dame Gillian glided into the shadowy Church 
like ghosts ; and truly the bridegroom looked as 
unlike the Count Cazalla she knew in his court 
braveries as it was possible to imagine. He had 
donned the frock and cowl of a monk, for the 
double purpose of hiding his other dress and 
securing him from the cold. Mildred had ridden 
on a pillion behind him, and now stood near 
her husband, white, and trembling with excite- 
ment, cold, and the hard riding of the last few 
miles. She saw nothing, knew nothing, but that 
she was in her husband's arms once more, while 
20 


314 


Cecily. 


the bride and bridegroom were alike oblivious of 
their surroundings, until Squire Audley inter- 
rupted them by saying, ** Come, come ; every body 
has promised to be sensible for a little while, and 
I can see Hodge has got his ghost in readiness/’ 

Then Martin took his place near the altar, and 
Count Cazalla led his bride forward, forgetting 
that this was the squire’s part of the ceremony. 
In a deeply solemn and impressive voice Mar- 
tin read the marriage service, and the little party 
gathered round to commemorate the undying 
love of that Saviour who had said, ** Lo, I am 
with you alway, even unto the end of the 
world.” 

When the ceremony was over, and the mar- 
riage duly entered in the register, the ghost- 
like party glided out into the darkness, and 
silently took their way to the manor-house, 
where Dame Audley had prepared a substan- 
tial meal for the travelers, not forgetting the 
hippocras customary at all weddings. 

When the good dame had folded her daughter 
in her arms and shed a few tears over her, she 
led the way to an inner room where supper had 
been laid, whispering to Mildred as she went, 
‘‘ Was ever such a strange wedding heard of, 
and Mistress Cecily a countess, too! Well, 
well, strange times make strange doings ! Mil- 


Conclusion, 


315 


dred, Tm glad you and Martin are going away, 
but I’m more glad that you’ll leave the children 
with me.” 

“O mother, that’s just the worst part of it, 
that I can’t take the children with me,” said 
Mildred, bursting into tears. 

“Yes, yes ; it’s hard, I know, my child, that 
you must be separated from either husband or 
children ; but I’ll take good care of them, never 
fear.” 

“ I’m not afraid of that, mother ; but you must 
promise me one thing — never let them forget 
the English ^^Our Father.” You’ll let them 
say it every night and morning at your knee, 
and tell them about their mother and father 
across the sea.” 

“ I will, I will, Mildred. But you’re not going 
yet, you know — not until to-morrow. We shall 
have one day more together — one day, but only 
one, and — and we may never see each other 
again.” And poor Dame Audley could not 
restrain her grief any longer. 

“ Hush, hush, mother ! you forget that we shall 
be parted but a little while after all ; for in heaven 
we shall meet never to separate.” But although 
Mildred tried to speak bravely and hopefully, her 
own tears choked her utterance ; and at that 
moment Martin drew her to the table, for Squire 


3i6 


Cecily. 


Audley was solemnly pledging the bride's health- 
in a bumper of hippocras, which was gravely 
responded to by the count. 

He could not linger long at his bridal feast, 
for by daylight he must be in London, to take 
his accustomed place in attendance on the king, 
and it was only by hard riding that he could 
hope to do it. Hodge had brought down one 
of the fleetest horses from the priory, which 
now stood at the door, ready for him to mount. 

Turning to Mildred as he went out, he said, 
‘'You will take care of Dona Cazalla, and not 
fail me at Harwich," and, leading Cecily to 
the porch, he bade her farewell, and the next 
minute had mounted his horse and was riding 
toward London. 

After a few hours' rest Cecily began the 
completion of her preparations for her depart- 
ure. Hodge would carry the luggage in a 
wagon carefully covered with hay, and this was 
to start at night, that he might reach Harwich 
by midday ; but the rest of the party would 
have to leave some hours earlier, and start from 
different points, in different disguises, not vent- 
uring to meet until they were beyond the neigh- 
borhood where they were known. 

It was an anxious time for every body until 
Count Cazalla's vessel was hailed, and all were 


Conclusion, 


317 


safe on board. Then the squire breathed a 
fervent Thank God ! ” though his heart was 
almost breaking over the departure of his 
daughter, whom he never expected to see again 
in this world. 

Geneva was to be the future home of Mildred 
and her husband, for Cecily could not persuade 
them to go with her to her husband’s home in 
Spain. They would not trust themselves in 
any kingdom where King Philip held sway, and 
Cecily, though she blamed them now, thought 
their decision a wise one a few months later ; 
for O, Spain was not England — was as unlike 
her native land as any thing could be imagined. 
Perhaps her disappointment was most bitter 
over the Protestant Church of Valladolid, over 
which her husband’s uncle presided, and about 
which they had so often talked. 

Cecily did not doubt the sincerity or earnest- 
ness of her fellow-Christians here in Spain, but 
why they should so studiously hide their con- 
victions and steal to their place of meeting, 
afraid almost of encountering each other in 
the street, was to her almost inexplicable, and 
seemed like denying the Master they professed 
to love. She could see it was not so hard, 
not so difficult for a Spaniard to do this; it 
was in accord with the grave, stately, reticent 


Cecily. 


318 

character of the whole people ; but just because 
it was utterly unlike what Englishmen would 
do Cecily said many harsh things about it, and 
sometimes the 'domestic happiness was threat- 
ened through this trouble. Poor Cecily had 
learned much during life, but she had not 
learned the lesson of charity yet quite so well 
as she thought she had, and her husband saw, 
to his sorrow, that his dearly loved English 
wife would never be happy in sunny Spain, but 
pined for her native fogs and mists, as he often 
laughingly told her. 

In the early part of the year 1558 news 
reached Valladolid that in the English war 
against France Calais had been lost to the En- 
glish, and that it was preying on the health of 
the queen, who had been ailing for the last two 
years. 

“O Pedro, if the queen were to die, would 
you take me back to England — back to my fa- 
ther ? asked Cecily eagerly. 

Count Cazalla looked at his wife, and saw 
how even this scrap of hope had moved her, and 
he said slowly, Yes, my dear ; if we might wor- 
ship God after our own hearts, I would endure 
the fogs and wet for your sake.” 

‘‘ God bless you, Pedro ! We shall go ; I know 
we shall ! ” she cried hysterically. 


Conclusion, 


319 

“ Mind, Cecily, not unless it is safe,” said her 
husband. 

Safe ? There is no little heir to the throne, 
and King Philip will not be the guardian of the 
Princess Elizabeth.” 

But you forget, this English princess is a 
Romanist,” said Cazalla. 

Not from conviction, only from fear, and 
England will be Protestant again ! O Pedro, 
I feel it, I know it ; God will hear and answer 
the prayers of his martyred servants. You re- 
member what is reported of Latimer when he 
was about to be burned with Bishop Ridley: 
‘ Be of good cheer. Master Ridley, we shall this 
day, by God’s grace, light in England such a 
candle as, I trust, shall never be put out’ ” 

But Cecily, my darling, do not be too san- 
guine. We do not know ; we cannot tell what 
may happen.” 

‘‘ No, but we may hope in Master Latimer’s 
candle burning still, in spite of all the efforts to 
put it out,” said Cecily. 

But weeks and months passed on, and all the 
news that came from England told of the per-, 
secution being carried on with unabated fury ; 
but still Cecily hoped, and prayed, and believed 
in her speedy return to her native land, 

It is not cruel to wish for Queen Mary’s 


320 


Cecily. 


death/^ said Cecily one day ; ^‘for I am sure she 
has been most unhappy since her husband left 
her for the wars ; and, Pedro, I hope — I can- 
not help believing — that, in spite of all the mis- 
takes she has made about religion, she does 
really love God after all. I am sure she is not 
half so much to blame for these cruel burnings 
as King Philip and Bishop Bonner and the 
heartless Parliament that passed such cruel 
laws. But O, Pedro, when the queen gets to 
heaven, should such be her happy lot, and 
meets with Cranmer, Hooper, Ridley and Lati- 
mer, and the rest of the martyrs she burned, 
how surprised and ashamed she will be ! ” 

At the close of the year came the tidings 
that Queen Elizabeth reigned in England in 
the place of her sister, who had just died. A 
few weeks previously the great emperor, Charles 
V., had died in his retirement at the monas- 
tery of St. Just, where he had lived as a monk 
since his abdication. This news had electrified 
Spain, but it seemed of small moment to Ce- 
cily. Now, however, that the news of Queen 
Mary’s death had reached them, she was all 
impatience to pack up and prepare for their de- 
parture at once. It was not so easy, however, 
to persuade the count that his estate could be 
left in the hands of a steward at a few hours’ 


Conclusion, 


321 


notice ; so it was not until the spring of the year 
1559 that they bade farewell to Valladolid and 
their Protestant friends there, and sailed for 
England. 

“ O Pedro, I can breathe freely now, for I 
shall never see one of these hideous, black- 
masked familiars of the Inquisition again. O, 
thank God, I am out of Spain ! '' said Cecily, 
as they stood on the deck of the vessel, and 
watched the fast-receding shore. 

^‘Why, Cecily, I did not know you were so 
terribly afraid of these men,’^ said the count. 

Men ! ” repeated Cecily ; “ well, yes, I sup- 
pose they are men ; but their stealthy creeping, 
gliding about and meeting you just where you 
never expect them, has made me feel as though 
they were watchful evil spirits.’^ 

“ And yet, Cecily, you blame us for our se- 
crecy and caution in concealing our Protest- 
ant opinions,’' said her husband. 

‘‘ I blamed it, I suppose, because secrecy is 
so hateful to me,” laughed Cecily ; but the next 
moment she said, more seriously, “ Pedro, do 
you not think, are you not afraid, that the In- 
quisition may be as secret as you in their pro- 
ceedings to discover the heresy, if once they 
suspect it 1 Would it not be better for your 
friends to flee while they have the chance?” 


322 


Cecily. 


Don Pedro shook his head : There is nothing 
to fear, my Cecily,” he said confidently ; and I 
have promised that we will return and visit 
them again next year.” 

But Cecily shook her head. ‘‘ Wait until 
next year comes,” she said. 

They reached Edendale to find that Mildred 
and her husband had returned just before them, 
and that Martin had been installed as the 
parish priest, at the earnest solicitation of Sir 
Peter Temple, just before he died. It was al- 
most the last word the baronet spoke. ‘‘ Cecily 
would like it,” he whispered ; “ Cecily and 
Martin Scrope must do the work I have left 
undone.” 

The Countess Cazalla, as she was henceforth 
to be known, was overwhelmed with grief when 
she heard of her father's death ; but she re- 
solved to fulfill her father's wishes concerning 
the property. She would endow the Church 
and establish schools out of the revenues of 
her property, for her husband's income would 
be sufficient for the simple style in which they 
intended to live. 

Scarcely had they reached England, how- 
ever, when the news followed them that the 
storm had burst upon the Protestant Church 
of Spain. So secret had been the movements 


Conclusion, 


323 


of the Inquisition that the devoted band of 
Christians had no word of warning — no chance 
of escape. Simultaneously arrests were made 
all over the kingdom, and those who attempted 
to escape were stopped and brought back. All 
the secret prisons of the Inquisition, and the 
common prisons, too, were filled with victims. 

The following October came the news of a 
grand auto-du’fe that had been held in the 
presence of King Philip ; and most of the 
grandees of Spain were present to witness the 
burning of one of their own order, the first, but 
not the last, Spanish nobleman the Inquisition 
had dared to doom to the stake. Don Leso, with 
twelve other Protestants, among whom was 
Pedro Cazalla, Cecily's husband's uncle, were 
burned at this auto^ refusing to recant as firmly 
as any of their English brethren had done. 

O, Pedro, and I doubted them ! " said Cecily 
when she heard the awful news ; ‘‘ I dared to 
dofibt the zeal and bravery of these martyred 
saints of God, who have gone to prison and to 
death rather than deny their Master." 

Do not fret, my Cecily, for this ; I can 
hardly grieve even for my noble uncle ; but O 
how sadly for Spain — poor, benighted Spain ! 
She is casting the Gospel from her now — will it 
ever be offered her again ? " 


324 


Cecily. 


You will not go back now, Pedro ?’' said 
Cecily. 

Back to Spain ? O no, my property is con- 
fiscated, of course ; so I have nothing left in 
Spain but my friends, who are slowly dying in 
the prisons of the Inquisition, and of whom I 
should hear less in Valladolid than in London ; 
for some passing friend might stop and bewail 
their loss here, but there none would dare to ex- 
press sympathy and pity for heretics.” 

But, Pedro, I cannot forgive myself for 
thinking such hard thoughts as I have about 
those who were ready to seal their testimony 
with their blood.” 

‘‘ Now, Cecily, you must try to remember 
what you said about poor Queen Mary and her 
mistakes. We all need to learn to have charity 
for those who differ from ourselves ; and when 
we get to heaven I fancy we shall all be as 
much astonished as you thought Queen Mary 
would be, for we shall see many approved 
whom we have condemned, and many whom we 
expect to occupy the highest places will be 
in the lowest. So let us be careful to follow 
the apostle’s ‘ more excellent way,’ for ‘ charity 
never faileth.’ ” 


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